


Harry Potter & the Ritual of Merlin's Choice

by angelmorph



Series: HP&tRoMC [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Heavy Angst, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-24
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-27 04:14:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 63,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13240203
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelmorph/pseuds/angelmorph
Summary: What if Voldemort had not called for a cease-fire half-way through the final battle? What if the death toll had continued to mount until in the end, Harry stood victorious but alone? What if Harry decided that such an outcome was unacceptable and set out to change things, to re-write the prophesy that had always defined his life? WARNING: not JUST about time-travel.





	1. Chapter 1

_“You have fought,” said the high, cold voice, “valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery._

_“Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste._

_“I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one more hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, I shall join my Death Eaters in the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour.”_

Had he been alone at the time the announcement was made, Harry might have taken Voldemort up on his offer.  However, if the way Ron and Hermione were shaking their heads was any indication, to do so would be impossible short of knocking them both out first, leaving them helpless. 

He contemplated that option briefly—maybe if he covered them in his cloak—but Hermione cut off his train of thought before he could come up with a more concrete plan.  "Don't let him play on your guilt, Harry.  He's planning on killing us all either way," she said. “You go back to the castle and view Snape's memories—they  might be important—Ron and I will follow him and take care of Nagini.”

Harry hesitated.  While he'd been considering walking himself into Voldemort's trap, it wasn't in his nature to let his friends go in his place.  He was the one Voldemort wanted.  They shouldn't have to deal with Nagini—and probably Voldemort himself—without him. 

They could all follow Voldemort, but his instincts told him Snape's memories contained crucial information; someone needed to view them.

He almost suggested that _they_ look into the memories while _he_ dealt with Nagini, but they'd likely interpret that suggestion as an attempt to surrender. So, instead he said, "Perhaps we should all go back and look at the memories; if they're as important as Snape made them seem, we might have to change our plans."

Hermione shook her head, "We don't have time for that, Harry.  People are dying."

_You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one more hour in the Forbidden Forest…One hour…_

Voldemort's words  echoed in his mind.  Hermione was right, they didn't have time.  Back to his original plan then, "Perhaps, I should just turn myself over to Voldemort then—maybe get a lucky shot at the snake–and buy you all some time to check out the memories and then finish him off, while he's busy gloating..." 

"HARRY JAMES POTTER!! Don't you DARE even consider it.  You turning yourself over is exactly what HE wants, and it wouldn't do us an ounce of good!" burst Hermione

Harry glanced at his other friend, hoping for support.  He didn't get it.  "That goes for me too, mate," Ron added, "I've already lost one brother tonight, don't you go adding yourself to the list."

Harry considered arguing further but the look on both their faces told him it would be a wasted effort.  So, instead, he gathered up his Invisibility Cloak and thrust it at Hermione, "At least take my Cloak; you'll need it more than me if you're going to try and sneak up on Voldemort."

She shook her head, refusing to take it, "We couldn't possibly,you're the one he's looking for; you'll need it to stay hidden till you're ready to face him."

"Please take it, Hermione. How else do you propose to get close enough to dismantle that shield he's using to protect Nagini? It should cover the two of you well enough, if you're careful.  I'm heading away from Voldemort. I'll be fine."

Reluctantly, she accepted the offered cloak, "We'll take good care of it," she promised.

She turned to Ron, "We should probably get going," she gestured for him to follow her through the tunnel entrance. He followed without a word. Harry brought up the rear.

 The silence was heavy as they made their way back through the tunnel and there were no goodbyes when, at the base of the willow, they split up.  Ron and Hermione donned the cloak heading into the forest.  Harry turned to the castle, instead, ducking spellfire from all directions as he crossed Hogwarts' lawn, where the bulk of the fighting seemed to be occurring. 

When he finally reached the castle, he found it unnaturally silent.  The corridors were empty, except for a few stragglers and the bodies of the dead. He ran faster, the crystal flask of Snape’s last thoughts held tightly in his right hand, past the empty Great Hall, past Fred Weasley's corpse, past Susan Bones battling two Death Eaters to a standstill—there was simply no time to stop. 

Only when he reached the entrance of the headmaster’s office, did he pause briefly, and even then, only to guess at the password, before sprinting up the spiral staircase two steps at a time.  He glanced briefly at the empty portraits that usually held the former headmasters and headmistresses, before crossing over to the cabinet which held the Headmaster's stone Pensieve.

He was surprised at how light the basin felt as he carried it from the cabinet to the Headmaster's desk, though perhaps that was simply the adrenaline still coursing through his system from his run across the grounds and castle.  His heart was still pounding frantically as he uncorked the flask and poured out the memories within.

Harry took only a brief moment to brace himself, diving into the swirling silver-white memories, before he could change his mind.  He took no time to consider what he might find within.

What he _did_ find was beyond anything he could have imagined.  

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought it possible that Snape and his mother had been childhood friends, and had had a falling out only once Snape started hanging round with the wrong crowd.  That Snape had been in _love_ with his mother, had _begged_ Voldemort to spare her, then turned himself in to Dumbledore when his Master had refused. 

That Aunt Petunia had once _wanted_ to be a witch was inconceivable...  And, Snape's hatred of all things Potter made the idea that he might have promised to protect Harry, unfathomable... 

Even the fact that Dumbledore had been dying before that fateful night in the Astronomy Tower and had asked —no _implored—_ Snape to finish him off when the timing was right, had never crossed his mind once in all the times he's replayed that awful memory in his mind. 

That even after his death, Dumbledore had guided Snape's actions was just as hard to swallow as the idea that the doe Patronus had been Snape's, that he  had been the one to give them back Gryffindor's sword.

But those revelations were of little import when placed beside Dumbledore's greatest secret—hidden in Snape's memories: After all he'd been through, he wasn't meant to live, _he wasn't meant to survive_.  He was one of Voldemort’s last remaining links to life, his accidental Horcrux.  

_Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives._

He had to let Voldemort kill him.

The thought terrified him.  All his life, he'd been fighting to survive; to throw that all away was not an easy thing.  But there was no doubt in his mind that it was what he had to do, no second guessing, no thoughts of running. 

His decision made, he wasted no time, painfully aware that time was running out on the hour before Voldemort joined his Death Eaters in battle. He stood to leave the office and didn't look back.

The castle was just as empty, heading back towards the Entrance Hall, as it had been on the way up.  Though he knew each step took him a little closer to his death, still he clung to the shadows, avoiding notice as best he could without his cloak.  He did not sprint as he had on his way up the Headmaster's office, but he moved quickly all the same.

He passed the corridor where he had seen Susan, on his way to the Headmaster's office.  This time, it too, was silent.  Two bodies lay crumpled on the ground.  One wore the trademark Death Eater mask.  The other was Susan.

_If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one... You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself._

Voldemort's words echoed through his mind at the sight, but were replaced just as quickly by the memory of Dumbledore's conversation about him with Snape: _Part of Lord Voldemort lives inside Harry… cannot die… the boy…the boy must die… Voldemort himself must do it... die at the right moment…_

He did not slow.  Voldemort was waiting for him in the forest, and though Nagini still lived, anchoring Voldemort to life, the right moment was now.  His job was to die. Hermione and Ron would take care of the snake. 

_But what if they didn't?_

It was that thought that made him stop when he came across Neville near the entrance of the castle.  Best to be absolutely sure. He took the time to tell Neville about Nagini, not that she was a Horcrux, but that she needed to be killed before Voldemort could be destroyed, that Ron and Hermione were trying to kill her, but that if they should fail...

He would have said more, but the words were cut off by a burning pain cleaving his head.

_He was standing in a clearing. On the ground before him lay Nagini—dead.  The glistening cage that had previously protected her was nowhere in sight, replaced instead by a basilisk fang imbedded deep at the base of her head._

_Voldemort's attention was not on his fallen familiar, but rather split between the struggling red-headed wizard being held in place by Lucius Malfoy and the curly-haired witch who lay withering at his feet from the effects of a well placed Cruciatus Curse._

_He lifted his curse on the witch, granting her a brief respite, and demanded, "Where is Potter?"_

_Hermione remained silent, shaking through the after-effects of her most recent bout of torture.  Ron did not, "We'll never tell you—so you might as well kill us now."_

_Voldemort laughed, almost a cackle, "So anxious to hasten your death,_ Mugglelover _?" He spat the last word._

_Ron glared at him, and his defiance seemed to further incense Voldemort.  A twisted grin crossed his face as he said, "Very well. I grow bored of this game."  He slashed his wand, pointing it at the boy, "Avada Kedavra!"_

_Green light lit the clearing as he turned back to the witch at his feet, "Will you tell me what I want to know,_ Mudblood _?"_

_Hermione managed to push herself to her knees from her prone position and intone, "Never!" with all the strength she could before she too was consumed by a flash of green._

_Before the vision faded out completely, Harry heard Voldemort address him directly, "I know you're watching, Potter.  You sent your best friends to die in your place.  How many more will you let die because you are too weak to face me yourself?"_

Neville caught the change in Harry's expression, "Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry shook his head, trying to clear away the memory of the Dark Lord's words. "You won't have to worry about the snake, after all, Neville.  Ron and Hermione took care of it. But–" his voice cracked, "then Voldemort killed them too.  I've got to go finish off what they started."

Neville grabbed his arm as he turned to leave. “We’re all going to keep fighting, Harry. You know that?”

“Yeah, I —if I don't succeed—”

"We'll give him hell for you, Harry.  Just, don't go getting yourself killed on purpose, okay mate?"

Harry swallowed, the weight of the lie crushing him, but he managed to nod in agreement. Seemingly satisfied with his response, Neville let go and nodded back, then turned to head back out into the battle that still raged on the lawn.

Harry walked on, ducking spellfire as he crossed the grounds once more—one last time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to start by thanking everyone who helped make this story possible. Firstly, Mistri Tonks' Admirer, with whom I first brainstormed this story, back in 2005. Secondly, Telepwen, who convinced me on October 30th, 2011, to take part in NaNoWriMo 2011, and who has supported me through the process. Thirdly, LiL-kristin-o7, my pre-beta, who offered her invaluable input. Lastly, but not least, my beta, Arnel, who took me back, after 5 years of silence.
> 
> NB: This story evolves from a single change from canon, which can be found in the opening excerpt. For those of you who don't have JKR's text memorised, please refer to "Chapter 33 - The Prince's Tale: to spot the difference. For those of you that do have JKR's text memorised, any text you recognize, isn't mine, though I tried to keep the direct excerpts to a minimum…


	2. Chapter 2

When Harry reached the edge of the forest he paused, the chill of the Dementors holding him back.  In his current frame of mind, he could not call forth a single happy thought to summon a Patronus. 

As he stood there, contemplating, his thoughts turned briefly to Quidditch.  Absently, he pulled his Snitch out from the pouch at his neck, seeking comfort in the familiar.  His mind made the intuitive leap:

_I open at the close._

Just like that, he knew what the words meant, knew what he had to say to open it.  And the moment he found the Resurrection Stone within, he understood the intended purpose of Dumbledore's final gift: to call the spirits of his dead loved ones in this time of need. There was no hesitation, no second thoughts.  As he closed his eyes, he willed them to appear.

When he opened his eyes moments later, his friends and family stood scattered around him; not in the flesh exactly, but a definite presence, certainly more substantial than the Hogwarts ghosts.

His eyes fell upon Hermione and Ron first.  They stood together, and to one side, looking somehow hardier than they had when last he had seen them— in their dying moments.  Instead, they were as they had been, before the camping trip from hell.  

Even Sirius and Remus shone with a vitality that they had not possessed in all the time he had known them.  There was no glint of insanity in Sirius' eyes, no eternal weariness on Remus' face.  Then there were his parents, standing side-by-side, and smiling as broadly as they did in his favourite photograph of them.  They were _all_ smiling at him. 

And still Harry's heart pounded in fear.  Even their smiles could not shake his fear of dying.

And overlaying that fear was the guilt, the feeling that he was responsible for each of their deaths.  He tried to apologize, "I wanted to say, I'm so—" but Hermione cut him off before he could say the word.

“Don't you dare apologize, Harry," she admonished, "You practically begged us not to go, but it needed to be done, Harry."

Beside her, Ron nodded his agreement, "You know I didn't want to die any more than you do, mate.  But I'm proud to have gone down the way I did, destroying a piece of that bastard!"

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again without speaking.  He was about to let himself be killed for the exact same reason; who was he to argue? 

Instead, he nodded his acknowledgement then squared his shoulders against the chill of the Dementors, his mind made up.

The spectres stayed by his side as he walked deeper into the forest, their presence lessening the Dementors' effect and granting him the courage to put one foot in front of the other despite the knowledge that each step brought him closer to death. 

The sounds of the battle faded behind him, as he moved deeper into the forest.  Time seemed to slow.  The forest was unnaturally quiet, the only sound the crunch of his steps. He encountered none of the forest's native creatures, nor any sign that they might still be around.

It seemed like he'd been walking forever—and no time at all—when he finally came across his first sign of life:  the sound of two Death Eaters, Yaxley and Dolohov, stumbling through the nearby trees, their wands blazing.  If their reaction was anything to go by, they'd heard him too.

Harry slipped the stone into his pocket, as they came into full view.  Then, he gathered his courage and stepped forward his empty hands up in a gesture of surrender.  "I believe Voldemort is expecting me," he called out, speaking loudly to keep the fear out of his voice

At the sound of his voice, Dolohov and Yaxley turned their wands on him.  It took all of Harry's willpower to not draw his own wand, to make no move to protect himself.  "Lead me to your Master," he repeated himself.   Neither man understood the reference. 

Yaxley looked far more interested in cursing Harry than leading him anywhere, but he did so all the same, shoving Harry forward and kicking him as he directed him deeper into the forest. Though he stumbled, Harry made no move to resist, allowing himself to be directed, albeit roughly to the clearing he had seen in his vision. Harry had suspected that the Dark Lord had been clear in his orders: he wanted to kill Harry Potter himself. 

They couldn't have been travelling more than a minute when Harry caught his first glimpse of the firelight shining through the trees. As he stumbled through the last of the trees, his eyes took in the small gathering of Death Eaters, those few that Voldemort had held back from the battle.

In the centre of the clearing stood Voldemort, Nagini's corpse hanging like a scarf across his shoulders, stroking her with an uncharacteristic gentleness with his left hand while his right gripped the Elder Wand.  Two human corpses lay crumpled on the ground where they had fallen, Hermione at the Dark Lord's feet and Ron a few paces away. 

Voldemort looked up at Harry's ungraceful arrival.

Harry met the dark wizard's eyes, despite the fear coursing through his body, "I believe you've been expecting me," he managed to say.

Voldemort stared back at him, his expression unreadable, "Ah, Mr Potter, I was beginning to think that I'd misjudged you," he smiled maliciously, "but here you are.  Finally come to join your friends in death?"

Harry stepped closer, meeting his nemesis's eyes, red and soulless, as he answered, "Let's just get this over with, Tom," the words braver than he felt.

The effect of that one word was instantaneous.  The blank expression in Voldemort's eyes transformed into a glare so forceful that Harry thought that he might drop dead from that alone. "My name is Lord Voldemort!"

Harry snorted, his eminent demise stripping him of his life-preserving inhibitions. "You can make up all the names you'd like, Tom, but you'll always be Tom Marvolo Riddle…  Now are you planning to kill me? Or are you just going to stand there and glare all night?"

He took another step forward.

Voldemort started to raise his wand, his expression unreadable, once more, "So anxious to die, Potter?"

“HARRY! NO!” a voice, from behind Harry, interrupted.

Harry turned; tied to a tree at the edge of the clearing stood Hagrid, struggling against the ropes binding him securely.

“NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT’RE YEH —” he repeated, only to be interrupted by a silent curse from Yaxley, before he could finish his question.

Harry turned his attention back to Voldemort. Despite his earlier bravado, it took conscious effort not to draw his wand as Voldemort raised his own once more. He'd come here to die.  He was Voldemort's last Horcrux.  He had to die.

The silence was heavy, the only sound the crackling of the fire, as the two wizards continued to stare across it at one another.  Finally, Voldemort spoke, “Harry Potter… The Boy Who Lived…”

His proclamation was followed by another brief silence, then the words, " _Avada Kedavra!_ "

There was a flash of green light, and Harry knew no more.

When Harry awoke he was surrounded by a bright mist. Slowly, the mist dissipated, transforming itself into what looked to be an empty and clean version of King's Cross Station. 

He was alone, except for a writhing form.  Harry reckoned it was a physical manifestation of the Horcrux that Voldemort had destroyed when he hit Harry with the Killing Curse.  It lay beneath one of the seats and was shaped vaguely like a naked child, if someone had taken a naked child, whipped it to within an inch of its life then set it on fire until its skin was raw, rough, and flayed-looking.

It made the most pitiful noises and Harry stood staring at it, feeling like a coward, unable to bring himself to touch it and yet unable to step away.

He was still standing there, staring, when he was startled by the appearance of Headmaster Dumbledore — or what looked like the Headmaster.  He was just as Harry remembered him, in appearance, but when it came to dispensing information and explanations, he was far more forthcoming with Harry than he had ever been in life. 

First, Dumbledore explained how Voldemort had failed—thorough his own greed—to kill Harry, killing instead the Horcrux that Harry had harboured for so many years.  He then elaborated on how Voldemort had, unintentionally, anchored Harry to life.  Voldemort's absorption of Lily's sacrifice into his own blood, at his resurrection, kept the magic alive, for as long as he himself survived.

The Headmaster explained how the bond between Harry and Voldemort worked to given Harry's wand power over any that Voldemort might wield. They even spoke of the Deathly Hallows: about Dumbledore's ill-advised quest for them, and about how Harry had come to be the true master of death.

Whether it was the Headmaster's intention or not, the more they spoke, the more the true meaning of the prophecy became clear to Harry, and the more he realized how truly self-fulfilling it was.  Not a single word of it would have been true, had Voldemort not heard it and tried to stave off defeat by first trying to kill him and then trying to use his blood — to the same end.  And yet, that same prophecy had moulded Harry's whole life, moulded him into a sacrifice that need never have been.

So, when Dumbledore offered him a choice he had not been expecting—the choice between going back, and moving on—the choice—which should have been a simple one—wasn't.  He had lost so much already: his parents, his childhood, his mentors, his adolescence, his best friends, his innocence … and yet yearn as he might to move on, to stop fighting, he could not bring himself to give up what remained or to forsake the Wizarding world and those few friends of his that still lived.

He hesitated, "It's just so— I mean, even if I go back, it doesn't change anything.  Everyone will still be dead: Mum, Dad, Sirius, Moody, Remus, Tonks, Fred, Ron, Hermione...and how many others?  How many others died while I tracked down Horcruxes?"

The platitude with which Dumbledore answered—about pitying the living instead of the dead—did nothing to calm Harry's growing anger.

"It just seems like such a waste," the boy continued, "Why did so many have to die? The war should have ended years ago… it shouldn't have been my job to end it!"

A contemplative look crossed the Headmaster's face and he seemed to struggle with the question of whether he should share something or not.  It was not an expression that Harry was used to seeing on Dumbledore's face.

When he finally spoke, Dumbledore seemed to choose his words carefully, "With strong conviction, and virtuous intentions, there is perhaps, a way..."

He paused before continuing, "Most consider it just a fey tale and just to attempt it requires the unanimous agreement of the entire International Confederation of Wizards.  But there are reports of a way, not to turn back time—which would create colossal paradoxes—but to instead  create a split—a sort of alternate universe, one might call it—by introducing someone from the present to a point in the past. Both universes would continue to exist, but the person travelling back would live out the rest of their life in the newly created universe. 

"Perhaps, if you were to go back, once the battle is won, you might try your hand at re-writing the world you live in…"

In the end, Harry realised that he needed to go back.

Not for those he'd left behind—most of those he cared for deeply were on this side of the veil.

Not from any desire to finish off Voldemort—he'd more than done his part by dying, let someone else finish him off.

No, he decided to go back out of a burning desire to set things right, to erase the prophecy that should never have become more than eerie words uttered in a seedy tavern.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my pre-betas LiL-kristin-o7 and Telepwen, as well as my beta, Arnel. I would also like to take a moment to thank AJ Granger—the very first person to review this story—over on fanfiction.net.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry awoke to the feeling of the cold forest ground against his face, and an ache that filled his body from head to toe, but he had the presence of mind to keep his eyes closed, and not to stir.  Though he could feel his wand in his pocket where he'd left it, he made no move to draw it. Instead, he maintained the illusion of death as best he could while trying to get his bearings.  Ignoring his discomfort, he concentrated instead on his sense of hearing.

The clearing—if that was still where he was—was surprisingly quiet.  The only sounds he could make out were the crackling of the fire, some hurried whispers, and the sound of scuffling.  Where were the cheers of triumph and jubilation?  Shouldn't Voldemort and his followers be celebrating his apparent demise?  Curious, he risked a quick glimpse and caught sight of Voldemort getting to his feet, a few paces away. Had the destruction of his final Horcrux knocked the Dark Lord out?

Voldemort brushed away his servants' offers of assistance, but he seemed wary of approaching Harry.  Perhaps he suspected that his nemesis was not truly dead?  Whatever the reason, he sent one of his Death Eaters to check on Harry instead of doing so himself.  That was his first mistake.  His second mistake was his choice of servant; Narcissa Malfoy cared more for the potential fate of her son than for ensuring her Master's victory, and was more than content to lie to serve her purpose.

When she stood and proclaimed, "He's dead," the change in mood was instantaneous.  The gathering of Death Eaters in the clearing was small, but what they lacked in numbers, they made up for in enthusiasm. There was shouting, and cheering, and stomping of feet.  There were flashes of light, visible through Harry's closed eyelids. And, then there were curses, as —one after another—each of the Death Eaters took turns cursing Harry's "corpse".

Somehow, he managed to maintain his facade all through Voldemort's premature victory celebration.  Even when Hagrid was forced at wandpoint to carry him through the forest—back to the frontline of the battlefield — he succeeded in feigning death through their entire trek.

The sounds of the still raging battle had grown in volume, as they approached the forest's edge, such that when they finally reached it, the battle sounds finally eclipsed the celebratory Death Eater cheers.

They paused then, and Voldemort addressed the battlefield once more, his voice magically magnified, "Your hero is dead.  He and his _sidekicks_ were killed as they attempted to flee, leaving you all to die in their places.  I have brought you Harry Potter's body as proof of his treachery, and of his demise at my hands.  His companions I have left to rot in the forest and be eaten by scavengers—a fate befitting of cowards."  He paused before addressing Hagrid, "Lay him down at my feet—where he belongs." 

Harry could feel Hagrid shaking as he complied, gently laying him on the blood-soaked grass.  He struggled to contain his need to comfort his friend with some sign, any sign, that he wasn't truly dead, but he knew to do so would be unwise.  Hagrid was notoriously bad at keeping secrets...

"The battle is over," Voldemort continued. My forces can easily slaughter what remains of your pitiful resistance.  But Lord Voldemort is generous.  I offer you a final opportunity to surrender; if you lay down your wands and bow before your Lord and Master, you will be spared.  Continue you futile resistance and share the fate of you hero."

There was silence on the battlefield, as Death Eaters and the resistance alike took in the Voldemort's words. Harry chanced a quick peek at the scene.  Bodies littered the ground, too many for him to identify them all from such a quick glimpse, though he thought he recognized Flitwick and more than one red-headed corpse. 

Harry never did find out if anyone was planning to take Voldemort up on his offer; for, mere seconds after the offer was made, Neville charged Voldemort—unsuccessfully— and the battle recommenced.

Voldemort's boast that his forces outnumbered the resistance was shattered, before long, by the arrival of reinforcements. First came hundreds of witches and wizards—the families and friends of those already fighting—and Grawp.  They were followed by the arrival of Buckbeak, and a flock of thestrals, who attacked Voldemort's giants and Death Eaters from the air.  Then, a herd of centaurs burst from the forest to join the fray, and a legion of house-elves—lead by Kreacher—charged out from the kitchens, wielding cutlery of all shapes and sizes. 

Chaos reigned, and Harry took advantage of everyone's distraction to spring to his feet and hide himself in the crowd—what he wouldn't do for his cloak at that moment—while trying to keep Voldemort in his sights.  As the fighting moved off the grounds and into the castle proper, a need to defend himself from attack at all angles, hampered Harry's attempts to reach Voldemort. 

Had the Death Eaters all forgotten Voldemort's orders to leave Harry Potter to him?  Or perhaps they simply thought such orders now voided by Voldemort's unsuccessful Killing Curse?  Or... did they simply not recognize him; he was supposed to be dead…

Whatever the reason, the distraction of defending himself, and that of watching helplessly as first Seamus Finnigan and then Hannah Abbott were killed by Death Eaters caused Harry to temporarily lose sight of the Dark Lord. Harry weaved his way through the crowd; he witnessed Dolohov and Walden blast Hagrid against a stone wall—then kill him. He then saw Neville brought down by Fenrir Greyback, and Yaxley bring down Lee Jordan. He passed Aberforth as the older wizard stunned Rookwood, only to see Thicknesse kill Aberforth.

When Harry caught sight of Voldemort, once more, he was standing in the centre of the Great Hall and locked in battle with McGonagall, Slughorn, and Kingsley.  However, before Harry could reach him, the young wizard's attention was drawn to the sight of Bellatrix Lestrange in a heated duel with Ginny and Luna.  The young witches were putting up a good fight, but Bellatrix clearly outmatched them.  Harry changed course, intent on helping them out, but he was still halfway across the Hall when a jet of Killing Curse green caught Ginny in the chest.

Luna was saved from sharing the same fate by the arrival of a vengeful Molly Weasley, who arrived yelling, "THAT WAS MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!" and pushed her out of harm's the way.

Harry had never seen the Weasley matron so angry.  Enraged, Molly was more than a match for Bellatrix, and the dark witch's taunts that she'd already killed Arthur and two of Molly's sons, only served to fuel that same rage.  It wasn't long before the red-haired matron landed a killing blow.

Across the Hall, Voldemort screamed, blasting his opponents backward with the force of his fury. His response to Bellatrix's death caught Harry by surprise—though he'd known she was Voldemort's best lieutenant, he'd never considered the Dark Lord one for emotional attachment; he treated most of his servants like disposable commodities.

However, when Voldemort turned his wand on Molly Weasley, Harry reacted instinctively, roaring, " _Protego!_ " before the Dark Lord could utter a single curse.

The appearance of the resulting Shield Charm, and the power with which it glowed, drew Voldemort's attention at last—and that of the rest of the crowd.

Silence fell abruptly and no one interfered as Harry covered the last few yards to stand before his nemesis, nor did anyone interfere with their duel when it began.  In fact, for as long as the duel lasted, there was no other fighting—every witch, wizard, and being stood rooted in place, their attention focused on the duelling pair at the centre of the Hall, to the exclusion of all else.

It probably would have ended far more quickly had the two not wasted quite so much time trading insults and taunts.  Eventually, however, Voldemort's luck ran out and he was struck down by a killing blow that had emerged from his own wand—or rather the Elder wand, which though wielded by Voldemort, considered Harry it's Master—and he fell as though in slow motion to lie crumpled on the ground.

Only after Voldemort's defeat did the fighting start up again, the combatants bursting back into motion as though a spell had been broken.  Though many of his Death Eaters survived—among them some of his best fighters, Yaxley, Dolohov, Macnair, Fenrir Greyback, and Thicknesse—they were outnumber, and their Master's death had robbed them of some of their drive, while reenergizing Hogwarts' defence.  Most attempted to flee the scene, though few made it very far, with Apparition blocked by the wards, the centaurs blocking their escape into the forest, and the thestrals blocking their escape into the air. 

The battle was over in short order, but with the number of corpses littering the ground— outside on the grounds, in the Great Hall, and elsewhere in the castle— there was little cause for celebration when it finally ended.  Certainly, Harry had no interest in celebrating as he tallied the list of the dead he knew of in his head: Fred, Susan Bones, Remus, Tonks, Hermione, Ron, George, Charlie, Arthur, Flitwick, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, Lee Jordan, Aberforth, Ginny, Neville… 

Perhaps others felt differently, for Harry found himself surrounded by survivors attempting to crowd him in a show of gratitude.  The first to reach him was Luna, wrapping her arms around him in a mix of relief and shared grief. Then came Molly, and Bill, and Percy, all that remained of the Weasleys, followed by Kingsley and McGonagall and Sprout, and dozens if not hundreds of complete strangers, who all wanted a piece of the Boy-Who-Lived…

Nobody asked what he wanted—if they had, he would have requested peace, quiet, and some privacy to grieve.  It wasn't until hours later—the sun had long since risen—that Luna sat down beside him and—in a gesture he would be eternally grateful for—offered to distract the crowd with talk of Blibbering Humdingers.

While everyone turned to where she was pointing, Harry slipped out of the Hall, and then out of the castle as quickly and as stealthily as he could without his cloak.  First order of business was to find his cloak; he had a feeling that it would be indispensable in the coming days if he hoped to have any peace at all. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the end to the parallels with canon (except for one tiny scene) so look forward to more changes from canon in coming chapters. 
> 
> Thanks once again to my pre-betas LiL-kristin-o7 and Telepwen, as well as my beta, Arnel.


	4. Chapter 4

As Harry walked briskly across the grounds, he recalled his last trek towards the forest—the one he had thought would be his last.  This time there was no spellfire to duck, no Death Eaters to avoid.  The fighting had ended, and all that remained were the bodies, and the crews sorting and clearing them from the lawn—separating the critically injured but alive from the dead, and providing the former with swift medical care, unlikely though they were to survive the day. 

He hesitated briefly at the boundary of the forest, but the Dementors had scattered after the battle, and he met no resistance. The trail was fairly easy to follow as Harry headed back towards the clearing where his two best friends had met their end.  Though he'd had his eyes closed during most of the journey to the forest's edge, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had left a clear path of destruction in their wake.

Before long, he could make out the dying glow of the fire, which the Death Eaters had not bothered to extinguish, peaking through the trees. Miraculously, their oversight didn’t seem to have started a forest fire—or perhaps there were simply spells in place to prevent such things.

Harry hastened his stride at the first glimpse of the fire, but fell to his knees in grief as he cleared the last of the trees.  There, by the still-smouldering embers, lay the discarded bodies of his two best friends.  Tears pooled in his eyes as he finally allowed the bottled emotions of the last few hours to catch up with him.  They hadn't been moved from when he'd last laid eyes on them, but the sight of their bodies was profoundly more heart-wrenching now that he didn't have their spirits walking beside him, now that he was no longer on his way to his own execution, to join them… 

Instead, he was alone and facing the prospect of a potentially long life… _alone_.  The temptation to reach into his pocket for the Resurrection Stone was strong, but somehow he resisted.  His friends were gone, and to try and summon them would be _wrong_ , Master of the Deathly Hallows, or not.

His plans for starting over seemed grandiose and daunting now, as it began to sink in that he'd be going at it alone, without Ron or Hermione, who had stood by his side for seven years worth of "adventures".  No, instead they had set off on the next great adventure—without him.

The thought of joining them may have crossed his mind briefly, but he knew in his heart that to take his own life was not the answer.  He had fought too hard for it to simply give up and die; walking to his death had been hard enough, had taken all his courage.  He would not—could not—turn his wand on himself.

Eventually, his tears spent, Harry managed to pull himself up to his hands and knees and crawl the final yards to Ron’s body.   

Kneeling at his friend’s side, he brushed a hand against his cheek and took in the red-head’s wide open eyes and look of defiance.  Ron’s skin was already cold, despite the nearby flames, and when Harry tried to brush his eyes closed, he was hindered by rigor mortis, hastened by proximity to the flames.  It took a great deal of effort, both physical and mental, to shift the eye-lids, but he did manage.  He stifled a sob as he brushed a hand through Ron's flaming hair.

Crawling over to Hermione next, he took a moment to close her eyes, before finally climbing to his feet and gingerly lifting her stiff and unyielding corpse from where she'd fallen.  The crumpled position that she’d been left in made the body hard to balance, but he managed, not wanting to resort to magic just yet. 

One painful step at a time, he carried her back to Ron, and gently lay her by his side—where she belonged—entwining their hands as best he could, before collapsing at their sides. 

As Harry sat in silence on the cold ground and stared, crying by intervals, time lost all meaning. Alone in the forest, there was no one to see this moment of weakness, no one relying on him to be brave. 

By the time he finally gathered the courage to move once more, the sun had begun to set.

His first move was to search for his Invisibility Cloak, but only when he failed to find it in his friends’ pockets did he make the decision to resort to magic, for the first time since the battle had ended.

The decision to draw the Elder Wand, instead of the hawthorn one he had used till recently, was instinctive; he remembered how the Cloak had failed to respond to a conventionally cast Summoning Charm the previous evening—though perhaps that was more a question of who was summoning it and not a question of the wand being used.

" _Accio Invisibility Cloak!"_

The Cloak came soaring from behind an outcrop of rocks at the edge of the clearing.  Whether Ron and Hermione had hidden it there before launching their attack, dropped it in the midst of their scuffle, or had it wrested from them in battle, was unclear, though the former seemed more likely. 

Harry caught the cloak deftly in his left hand, and donned it in a single sweep.  Strange how comforted wearing it made him feel in that moment...

He raised his wand once more, this time pointing it at Ron and Hermione, " _Mobilicorpus_."

As he corpses rose slowly, their hands remained clasped together and the bodies maintained their awkward and rigid postures, despite the vertical change in their positions. 

For a moment they just hung there, floating a few feet above the ground.  But then, at Harry's direction, they began to move forward, slowly at first, then more quickly, as he gained confidence in his ability to control the spell.

And thus began the second death procession through the Forest in less than a day—a far more sombre one than the first—one of mourning, not celebration.  The biggest difference though—at least in Harry’s mind—was that this time there was no doubt that the bodies in question were truly dead.

He halted at the edge of the forest, hesitating. Harry didn’t want to draw more attention than necessary before he reached the Great Hall and could deliver his precious load to the Weasleys—what was left of the Weasleys...  But which was less likely to draw attention?  The floating corpses?  Or himself?  When put that way, the decision to keep the Cloak for himself was an easy one; the grounds were filled with the dead.

Fortunately, no one stopped him as he entered the Great Hall, though many stopped to stare as Ron and Hermione floated by, and most must have guessed at the power directing the corpses of two-thirds of the Golden Trio. 

He found Mrs Weasley near the back of the Hall, hugging her two remaining sons tightly, while the rest of her family—minus one—lay in a neat row nearby. 

Harry directed the bodies of his friends to an empty space beside the others, then, pulling off the cloak, he approached the woman he had long considered a surrogate mum. 

When she opened her arms to embrace him, he gratefully accepted the offer of comfort.  "I'm so sorry, Mrs Weasley, I couldn't save him," he whispered into her shoulder, as she held him.

Molly loosened her hold just enough to look Harry in the eyes, "Oh Harry!" Her eyes were moist with tears, "It's not your fault, child.  You did your best—by all of us."

She hugged him tighter, "Thank you for bringing him back to me."

"It was the least I could do," Harry insisted, withdrawing from her embrace.

Then, before she could protest, he donned his cloak and walked away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the NaNoWriMo group here in Montreal for their support all through every November that I took part.
> 
> Thanks once again to my pre-betas LiL-kristin-o7 and Telepwen, as well as my beta, Arnel.


	5. Chapter 5

Harry exited the Hall and, climbing over the bloodstained rubble, headed up the partially destroyed marble staircase to the first floor.  Deep in thought, he continued upward and across the castle in silence, stepping absently over and around fallen rubble—and a few corpses.

Finally, he reached the entrance to the Headmaster's office on the seventh floor.  The stone gargoyle that usually guarded the spiral staircase had been knocked on its side, but Harry paused briefly to ask permission before stepping over it and making his way up the stairs.

As he climbed, Harry continued to mentally rehearse his speech, but the loud and enthusiastic standing ovation that greeted him at the top startled him out of his thoughts.  The jumble of applause and congratulations was impossible to decipher as every former Headmaster and Headmistress tried to have their say, mindless of one another.

It took a good five minutes before Harry could get a word in edgewise, and address the portrait that he’d come to see.  He chose his words carefully, "After I died, we talked a bit, and you told me that I could maybe start over if I wanted to, called it creating an ‘alternate universe’.  It’s why I decided to come back.  But you didn’t explain it very well.  Do you think...?”  The question remained unasked.

Dumbledore's portrait raised its eyebrow.  "Oh?  I did?  And why ever would you want to do such a thing, Harry?"

There was a trace of anger in the younger wizard’s voice as he answered, "Because my whole life has been about killing Voldemort, ever since Trelawney made that stupid prophecy.  I've never had a real life.  And now Voldemort’s dead, but so is almost everyone I care about.  There's nothing left for me here; I'd rather be dead than live like this.  Maybe that makes me selfish, but after all I’ve been through, I think that I deserve better.

"If I could travel back in time, I could change things, stop the prophecy from ruling my life; maybe another version of me could have a better life.  I could finish off Voldemort before so many people have to die; he would never have come back if the Horcruxes had been destroyed when I was still a child."

Dumbledore's portrait seemed to consider his words.  Certainly, he hesitated for a long while before he finally answered.  Unfortunately, his answer was not quite what Harry had been hoping for.  Instead of answering the implied question he merely remarked, “The ritual to which I was probably referring to is called the Ritual of Merlin's Choice, but it is not something to be undertaken lightly...”

Harry, for his part, was not that easily dissuaded.  Rather than back down, he quoted back Dumbledore’s words from their earlier conversation and assured the portrait that he possessed both strong convictions and virtuous intentions in spades.

"Very well, Harry, I will tell you what I know..." the former Headmaster relented, "The ritual requires an artefact, Merlin's Ring, which can only be accessed with unanimous consent of the International Confederation of Wizards…"

Suspecting he was in for a long lecture, Harry took advantage of a brief pause in Dumbledore's speech to conjure himself a comfy chair and plop down into it.

"Merlin's Ring was first discovered, in a cave system in Somerset by wizards local to the area, sometime in the late 9th century.  At the time they were unable to determine its use, and knew only that magical analysis both proved it was magical in nature, and suggested that it predated the existence of wizard-kind.  So they sealed the area off from Muggles, and no further thought was given to the artefact until a couple of centuries later.

"Only when a forty-year-old Merlin was found wandering naked in the King's private woods in Camelot, claiming to have used the Ring to travel back in time in order to prevent some great calamity, was any further thought given to the artefact.  Merlin bore a striking resemblance to an eleven-year-old Slytherin by the name of Myrddin Wyllt—a fact that lay credence to his claim, though he never acknowledged the young wizard as being his former identity.  The great calamity of which he’d spoken never came to pass as far as anyone could tell..."

When the former Headmaster started to expound on Merlin’s work protecting Muggles, Harry started to huff and tap his left foot in annoyance.  The history of the Ring was one thing, but Merlin’s many accomplishments were common knowledge—even with Binns teaching History of Magic.

“I digress,” Dumbledore admitted, but did not apologize, “After Merlin's claims were made known, the International Confederation of Wizards, then in its infancy, claimed jurisdiction over the artefact and set up protections to prevent it from falling into the wrong hands.  Many applied for permission to study it, and many made use of Merlin's notes on the subject, but there is no record of any other wizard ever getting the Ring to work.  For most it simply remained inert, failed to react to any stimulus.  However, those who have attempted the Ritual with nefarious intentions—or at least that has been the conclusion drawn from circumstantial evidence after the fact— have been engulfed by a burst of magical fire that spits forth from the Ring.”

“Is it still there, then?  In Somerset?  Have you seen it?” Harry prompted, when the portrait paused in his narrative.

Dumbledore shook his head, “No, the Ring was moved to Antarctica, in the late nineteenth century, when the frequency of Muggle exploration of Somerset started to threaten its secrecy, and after Dark Lord Philip’s attempt to use it resulted in several dozen collateral deaths.  Strong Muggle repelling wards were placed on the section of Antarctica where it’s located, a place the Muggles call Marie Byrd Land.  As I understand it, the wards still hold today, and no Muggle nation has ever attempted to lay claim to Mary Byrd Land, though a few have explored parts of it.  Certainly no Muggles have been able to breach the wards protecting the Ring.

"And to answer your last question, I’ve never laid eyes on it myself, though I admit I may have briefly considered applying for permission to use it, back when I first heard of its existence." 

Harry tried to hide his disappointment, "So you have no proof that it actually exists or that it will do what you say?"

"No proof, no," confirmed Dumbledore, "The only records that exist regarding its use are Merlin's journals about it, but even they are vague.  That’s why I'm baffled at the fact that I would have suggested using it, Harry.  I may not have always been fully honest and open with you over the years, but I can think of no reason to give you false hope, at this juncture in time.  Unless...”  He paused as though reflecting, but didn’t elaborate.

“What?”  Harry prompted.

“Perhaps the me you spoke to knew something that I don't—something that I didn't know before I died—that led him to believe the tale was worth mentioning..."

"So you think there might be a chance, then?"  Harry asked.

"Yes, a chance," the portrait responded, delicately, "Though it certainly won't be easy."

Harry brightened, "And you'll help me?"

Dumbledore nodded, though he seemed reluctant to do so, repeating once more that Merlin’s Choice wasn’t a ritual to be undertaken lightly, and that the task that Harry planned to accomplish would not be an easy one.  He went on to point out that even if Harry succeeded in convincing Merlin's Ring to grant him passage, he would still have to contend with reaching his destination naked and without a Knut to his name, as Merlin had on his arrival in Camelot.  He wouldn't be able to take anything with him—not even his wand—for death's veil, through which he would pass it twice on his way to his destination, would strip him of all material goods.

"Although... perhaps...maybe... yes, almost definitely..." Dumbledore seemed to reconsider his previous statement, almost as soon as the words escaped his lips, but didn't explain.

"Maybe, what?" asked Harry, frustrated at how evasive and runabout Dumbledore had gone back to being in his explanations.

"The Hallows, if they truly are gifts from Death itself, might survive a trip through the veil between worlds.  And since they seem to consider you their true Master for uniting them, they'll probably agree to follow you if you invite them along.  Of course I offer no guarantees.  But..."

"Your guesses have usually been good," completed Harry "How exactly do I 'invite' them along?"

"Just projecting your desire should suffice.  Much like wands, when magical artefacts bond with a wizard or witch, they do not always need a clear command to react to his or her will.  Perhaps you have already noticed as much about your cloak since it has been in your possession. 

Harry thought back to the moment in Hogsmeade when the Cloak had kept him hidden, despite a Death Eater attempting to summon it from him.  Perhaps it _had_ been responding to his will, for it had responded perfectly well to his own attempt to summon it, mere hours later.

"So I should plan on bringing the Hallows with me, but have a contingency plan that does not rely on them, just in case?"

"Exactly, my boy, exactly," the older wizard responded. "Now I suggest that you start by reading Merlin's journals.  Check my personal library; should be on the second bookcase to the left of the stairwell, third shelf from the bottom—unless Severus completely reorganized my reading material."

Harry crossed over to the bookshelf and found two aged leather volumes, exactly where the Headmaster had indicated.  He held them up to the portrait for inspection, "These?"

"Yes, indeed.  They might help you with formulating your plan, before you draft your letter to the International Confederation of Wizards.  Oh, and you should probably research the time you're planning to travel to, current events, dates of attacks, dates of arrests...  I suspect the Carrows may have destroyed any useful Daily Prophet articles in the library during their censorship sweep, but the originals are probably still on record at the Prophet's main offices— much harder to destroy, and not worth Voldemort's effort...

"Don't hesitate to return if you have any questions.  I'm sure Minerva won't mind."

Harry turned back towards the stairwell, journals in hand.  When he reached the stairs, he glanced back a final time and gave Dumbledore a half-smile, "Thanks, Headmaster, I will."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my pre-betas LiL-kristin-o7 and Telepwen, as well as my beta, Arnel.


	6. Chapter 6

Much as Harry would have liked to get started on planning his departure, circumstances conspired against him. 

He could not draft a letter to the International Confederation of Wizards because all such letters had to go through the British Ministry of Magic, which had quite literally shut down all but essential services, given the reason behind the previous government's collapse, the current political climate, and the need for major restructuring…

He couldn't even do any major research into the current events of 1981, because someone—Merlin knew who or why— had burned the Daily Prophet's offices to the ground around the time of the final battle, destroying all the records within.  He could always try the archives of Muggle newspapers, but Harry was hoping not to have to resort to trying to glean useful information from Muggle accounts of Wizarding events.  First, he preferred try a few news offices across the channel; but, that would have to wait until the Ministry reopened international borders.

And then there were all the funerals—hundreds of them… 

Harry couldn’t attend them all—nor did he want to.  But, even counting only those he knew well enough to want to pay his respects, there were several dozen funerals to attend.  And the number would have been larger still were it not for the multitude of group burials amongst them.

So, in the end, Harry decided to put off planning his departure until the funerals were over.  After all, he couldn’t very well skip the Weasley Family funeral, much as he was dreading it, dreading saying a final goodbye to his two best friends and two thirds of his surrogate family. 

Harry especially hadn’t wanted to stand in the receiving line, and shake hundreds of hands.  He worried that people would get hung up on meeting the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Destroyed-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and forget who they were there to mourn, but Mrs Weasley had insisted.  Therefore, he stood at Percy’s side in the grim and disorderly garden at the Burrow which, only a few months before, had been neatly pruned and beautifully decorated for Bill and Fleur’s wedding, and shook hands with guests. 

He tried not to, but each time that there was a lull in the stream of guests, Harry found himself staring at the long line of wooden coffins before him: first Mr Weasley, then each of his deceased sons in order of birth, then Hermione—who Mrs Weasley had generously offered to bury in the Weasley family crypt—and Ginny. 

Though Mrs Weasley and many of the guests had commented on how good they looked, how peaceful, and seemed comforted by the sight, Harry couldn’t help disagreeing.  He tried to see what they did, but the bodies on display in the coffins just made him uneasy. 

As heart-wrenching and painful as it had been to look upon the fresh bodies of his friends in the aftermath of the final battle, at least those had been real.  Not this—not these magically reconstructed and preserved showpieces, healed of all injury, stuffed, and plastered in make-up. 

It was almost a relief when, after a week of standing at attention, the last guest had said their condolences and Harry could join the group of fourteen pallbearers, two per coffin, that would levitate the dead to Ottery St. Catchpole's tiny church for the service.  As they walked in solemn silence, under cover of Muggle Repelling Charms, Harry spared a passing thought to wonder where they would have found forty-two pallbearers to carry the caskets, had they needed to do it the Muggle way. 

But the thought was fleeting.  Mostly, he dwelled on what was to come.  He had already made up his mind not to say a eulogy: not only did he not feel the strength to do so, but he didn't want the Weasley’s moment of sorrow to be overshadowed by a speech by Boy-Who-Lived-And-Destroyed-He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. 

But his resolve lasted no more than five minutes from the time the service got underway.  The empty words spewing forth from the mouth of the Ministry official that Molly had found to officiate filled him with silent rage—empty meaningless words uttered by someone who had never even known the Weasleys, for whom this was just one of a dozen funerals scheduled that day alone.

By the time the official stopped spewing pleasantries and asked if anyone wanted to make a speech, Harry’s anger had spilled over and transformed into resolve.  He found himself getting to his feet, and walking to the front of the room.  He was shaking as he turned to face the crowd but somehow he found the strength to clear his voice and begin, "I've never been one for fancy speeches, but the Weasleys deserve to be remembered by someone who knew them…"

Once he started speaking the words just started to flow, as if rehearsed, "I first met the Weasleys on September 1st, 1991…” 

As he began with a tribute to his first friend his own age, Harry found himself unable to hold back his tears.  Still, he managed to share Ron’s last words to him, _“_ _I'm proud to have gone down for destroying a piece of that bastard,_ ” without his voice breaking.

He even managed a half-smile as he reminisced, "Of course, no discussion about Ron would be complete without mention of Hermione.  Those two squabbled like an old married couple from nearly the first time they met,” but his voice finally cracked as he reflected that they hadn’t lived long enough to actually become a married couple.

The room was silent except for intermittent sobbing as Harry struggled to regain his composure, before continuing with his eulogy, "To those of you who knew her well, Hermione was so much more than a just a know-it-all bookworm—though yes, she did have the answer to most of our questions, and some we didn't ask.  She was a loyal friend, sticking with us even when she objected to our foolish schemes, and she was a braver woman than most give her credit for.  I will never forget the sight of her climbing to her knees after a minute of Voldemort's Cruciatus and still refusing to give me up to him...”

Harry took a moment to pull himself out of the memory, before starting again, "Ginny Weasley was a force to be reckoned with.  She had a temper to match her mum's—sorry Mrs Weasley, but it's true— and was stubborn to boot.  I guess she would have to be, growing up in a house with six brothers.”

Tears flowed freely as he spoke of their break-up, but he managed to soldier on without another breakdown, “I still love her, I think I always will.  She understood me in a way that no one else ever has, and don’t think I can ever fill the hole she’s left in my heart.”

Harry even managed a few more bittersweet smiles, as his recounted some of Fred and George’s more memorable antics, and commented, “It's a small comfort to those us left behind to mourn them both, but at least neither has to mourn the other.”

Harry paused before continuing, "Arthur Weasley was a good man, with a good heart, and though he had no shortage of children, he treated me like his own son.”  He shared a few anecdotes, as well, but they were mostly lost on the crowd which was, for the most part, as clueless about Muggle gadgets as Arthur had been…

Harry struggled to find something to say about Charlie, who he had barely known, but he did his best, calling up things Ron and Ginny had shared about their older brother, and sharing the story from his first year at Hogwarts when Charlie had convinced some of his friends to help them smuggle Hagrid's dragon out of Hogwarts.

And then it was over.  Harry stumbled back to his seat and sat through the rest of the service in a haze.  There were a few more speeches, but his mind did not register most of what was said, as he continued to struggle with his overwhelming grief.

Finally, he managed to stifle his tears before the end of the ceremony.  He did not cry again, not during the long walk to the crypt, not as the bodies were finally laid to rest, not as he supported a sobbing Molly Weasley out of the crypt and back to the Burrow, not as he retreated to Grimmauld Place, empty except for Kreacher... 

He was out of tears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my beta Arnel for her imput on this chapter.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter to my Grandpop (1916-2008), my Dad (1953-2011), and my Nonna (1932-2012) who were very much in my thoughts as I wrote and edited it.

Harry only caught the last day of Remus and Tonks’ funeral, but the short service was enough to start his tears flowing anew.  Although he hadn’t been particularly close to Remus, the older wizard had been his last link to his parents and the pain of saying goodbye to him and Tonks strengthened his resolve to go through with his plans. 

That same resolve to go almost crumbled momentarily at the sight of little baby Teddy, whose godfather he had promised to be, but he quickly pushed his doubts aside; their situations were not the same. 

Harry refused to feel guilty about 'abandoning' Teddy.  While the boy might very well appreciate having a godfather, he didn't _need_ one, not the way that Harry had needed Sirius.  He had a grandmother who loved him dearly, who would raise him well and share with him fond memories of his parents. 

That’s not to say that Harry didn’t shed a few more tears as he paid his respects to Andromeda and gently kissed his godson’s forehead, for what was probably the last time.  He did, however, manage to walk away unburdened by guilt.

The rest of the funerals were somewhat easier and, after the first few, they all seemed to blend together in Harry’s mind.  There were so many that he sometimes found himself attending as many as three in one day.  First there was Hagrid—who they buried by his hut on the Hogwarts grounds, with his half-brother towering over the attendees and shaking the ground with each fit of tears—Susan Bones, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, Lee Jordan, Aberforth Dumbledore, Neville Longbottom, Colin Creevey, Professor Flitwick, Michael Corner, Anthony Goldstein, Angelina Johnson, Zacharias Smith, Oliver Wood…

Finally, just over two weeks after the final battle, Harry stood up to leave the last funeral on his list, that of Xenophilius Lovegood, which he’d decided to attend more out of moral support for Luna than out of any respect for the deceased.  Originally he’d only intended to stay for the service, but Luna had looked so sad and lonely that he found himself sticking around for the burial, as well.

Most of the small crowd at the grave-site had dispersed when he finally approached Luna to give his condolences.

Her face brightened considerably when she caught sight of him, "Thank you for coming, Harry.  I hope you haven't been infected by _mermera_ gasts, they like to hang out at funerals—and I've seen you at a lot of funerals…"

Harry stifled a dry laugh, "You're welcome, Luna.  I think I managed to steer clear of the mermagasts."

" _Mermera_ gasts, Harry, and that's good, because they're really tricky to get rid of.  They tend to stick around for a while and they make people really sad— you look sad," she remarked, candidly.

"I'm okay, Luna, really," Harry insisted, but made no mention to how sad _she_ looked.

"No, you're not," she countered, "but you will be.  What are you going to do now, Harry?"

The lie that he'd been telling everybody else who had asked was at the tip of his tongue, but something in Luna's earnest expression and silvery eyes stopped him from uttering the words.  So instead of telling her that he didn't know what he wanted to do with the rest of his life yet, and was planning to travel, in an attempt to escape his grief, he found himself telling her the truth about his plans.

He shouldn't have worried though; far from try to discourage him, Luna asked to come along.  She reminded him so much of a lonely child hoping to be included in a playground game, that Harry found himself unable to refuse her.

A smile broke on her face, "Oh thank you, Harry.  I couldn't possibly stay here all alone, now that everyone else is gone, even Daddy."

Harry shuffled his feet, uncomfortable at the mention of Xenophilius Lovegood, but said, "I'm really sorry about your dad, Luna."

"Yes, it is rather sad, but now he's with Mum again, so I really mustn't be sad…" she answered, her tone conversational.  Her voice cracked unexpectedly, "but I _am_ sad." 

Faced with the unlikely, and awkward, situation of having to comfort Luna Lovegood—whom Harry generally considered to be unflappable—the young wizard found himself at a loss for words. 

An awkward silence settled in. 

However, just as Harry was about to attempt some words of comfort, Luna’s spoke again, "Do you think I might have been infected by _mermera_ gasts?  I haven't been to nearly as many funerals as you…"

"It’s okay to be sad, Luna," Harry offered, patting her back clumsily as he drew her into a hug, "you just buried your dad."

Luna giggled, the moment of melancholy as fleeting as though it had never been, "We didn't bury Daddy, Harry."

Harry pulled away, startled.  "We buried an empty shell," she continued, "Daddy's with Mum, on the other side of the Veil."

Harry sighed, and muttered, "I stand corrected…" then attempted to extract himself from her grasp, "I should probably head home, Kreacher will worry.  You'll call when you're ready to come along?"

Luna shook her head, "No time like the present—Daddy always said."

Harry stared at her for a moment, before recovering his power of speech, "But, but…don't you have things to do first?"

"Oh certainly, before we leave.  But that can wait—being alone is the worst treatment for a _mermera_ gast infection, and I'm starting to think that I might really be infected."

Harry caught the words that she didn't say: that she was sad and didn't want to be alone right now, that somewhere behind the thick outer shell which she shared with the rest of the world, Luna Lovegood was just as vulnerable as everyone else…

"Okay then, if you're sure," he answered.  “I’ll have to Apparate us both though; the house is still under Fidelius.  Hold on tight."

He didn’t even bother objecting when she chose to grab hold of his ear, instead of something more typical; it wasn’t worth the effort.

“Ready?" he asked, without waiting for the response, as he concentrated on their destination.

A moment later, they landed on the top step of Number twelve, Grimmauld Place.  He paused, before reaching for the door, "Well, this is it; please ignore the house-elf heads—I still haven't convinced Kreacher to take them down.  And try to be quiet in the hall, or you’ll wake Mrs Black," Harry warned as he opened the door and was greeted by the usual low whisper of “ _Severus Snape_ ”

 “I didn’t kill you,” he whispered back, then held his breath as the dusty jinx-figure exploded.

"Was that Professor Moody?" asked Luna, apparently unfazed by the dusty apparition.

"Yeah," answered Harry, in a whisper, "I really need to do something about that jinx.  It's starting to get annoying.  Hurry, follow me before we wake up Mrs Black."

"Who's Mrs Black?" she asked—a little too loudly. 

" _Mudbloods!  Filth!  Scum!  Half-breeds!_ "

"Drat!  Too late!”  Harry cursed while trying to pull the curtains, which framed the portrait, shut.

"She is quite unpleasant," commented Luna, as she walked up to the portrait, "Do think she might suffer from _fanumalia?"_

"Bloodtraitors and halfbloods!  Defiling the home of my fathers!  Be gone!  Be gone filth!"

 _"Doubt it,"_ answered Harry, _"she's just a bitter old woman, and a pure-blood supremacist, who refuses to accept that the world has changed, and that this is_ _no longer her house_ _!"_

"Mudbloods!  Taint of shame on the house of my fathers!  Be gone from this place!"

 "Shut up!”  Harry addressed the painting—which was still screaming obscenities at the top of its two-dimensional lungs—and with a stupendous effort he managed to force the curtains shut.

He turned back to Luna, and whispered, "Come on, this way, before she wakes up again…  Kreacher probably already has supper ready…"  He led her down the stairs, towards the kitchen, and away from the portrait.

Kreacher stood at the far corner of the kitchen stirring a deep pot of stew, as they walked in, "Kreacher apologizes, Master Harry, supper is almost ready, " reported the house-elf without looking up.

"That's okay, Kreacher," reassured Harry as he pulled up a chair at the table, and bid Luna to sit, "We can wait."

Kreacher looked up, startled, "Master Harry has brought home a guest!  Kreacher was not expecting a guest!"

He hurried over to greet them—Regulus' locket bouncing against his chest as he rushed about, "Welcome, Miss, please allow Kreacher to take Miss' cloak.  Kreacher will put on more stew for Master's guest."

"Kreacher," Harry interrupted, "This is Luna Lovegood; she'll be spending the night.  Luna, this is my house-elf, Kreacher."

Luna stood and curtsied. "Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Kreacher," she greeted.  

"Has Miss Luna left her luggage in the Hall, Master Harry?  Kreacher will bring it up to Master's room for her."

Harry shook his head, "No, no luggage, Kreacher, but thanks."

"Then Kreacher shall lay out some of Mistress' old nightclothes on Master's bed for her," offered the elf.

Harry blushed, realising what Kreacher was suggesting, "Thank you, Kreacher, but Luna won’t be sleeping with me.  Could you prepare another room for her, please?"

The house-elf bowed deeply, "Yes, Master Harry, Kreacher will do that— Kreacher will tidy up the Mudblood's room for Miss Luna," before scuttling off to tend to his stew. 

Harry swallowed the fresh grief that rose at the mention of Hermione, before responding to the slip. 

"Kreacher?" he called after the elf trying very hard to keep the anger and frustration out of his voice.

"Yes, Master Harry?" responded the house-elf distractedly.

"What did I tell you about the word, Mudblood?"  Harry prompted.

Kreacher flinched as he turned to look at his master, "That it is offensive and, Kreacher is not to use it, Master Harry."

"Then why do you keep using it?"  Harry asked.

"Kreacher forgets, Master Harry."

Harry sighed, "Please, try to remember, Kreacher."

"Yes, Master Harry," the house-elf promised, and turned back to his cooking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my beta Arnel for her imput on this chapter.


	8. Chapter 8

Harry looked up from his writing when Luna wandered into his room at Grimmauld Place the morning after Xenophilius Lovegood's funeral, still wearing Mrs Black's old-fashioned nightclothes.  Her slim figure looked lost in the voluminous gown, which seemed to be at least two sizes too big.

"Good Morning, Luna," he greeted, "I guess you didn't get much more sleep than I did?"

Her cheeks were stained with tears, she had dark circles under her eyes, and her usual smile was noticeably absent.

Luna didn't respond to his greeting.  Instead, she walked over to the desk—where he'd been sitting for several sleepless hours—and read over his shoulder in complete silence, for a solid minute.

Finally, she stepped back and flopped onto his bed.  "Why are you writing a letter to the International Confederation of Wizards, Harry?  They're all infected with vanusgenes—it makes them egotistical and close-minded."

Harry ignored her comment about vanusgenes, quite sure that he didn't want to know, "I need to ask them for permission to use Merlin's Ring," he explained.

"Why do you need their permission?"

"Because, they're the ones guarding it."

"But you're Harry Potter."

Harry sighed in exasperation at the reminder, and the implication that his name should open doors.  "What does that have to do with anything?" he demanded, his frustration leaking through.

Luna didn't seem to notice, "You can break into anywhere."

Harry sighed again, "No, I can't."  He didn't bother asking how she'd come to such a conclusion.

"You broke into Gringotts," she responded, raising a finger on her right hand, as if counting.

"That was a one-time thing; I almost died doing so, _and_ we had inside help."

"You broke us into the Department of Mysteries," she added another finger.

"Only because Voldemort wanted me there, and had already had his Death Eaters disable all the defences."

"You broke into the Chamber of Secrets to rescue Ginny," she raised a third finger.

"Only because I could speak Parseltongue, which I can't anymore."

"You broke into that hidden chamber in your first year," she lifted a fourth finger.

"I'm starting to think that Dumbledore planned that whole thing."

"You broke into the Ministry of Magic offices, despite all of Voldemort and his Death Eater's defences" she concluded, raising the last finger on her right hand.

"I almost didn't get out of that one alive either," Harry insisted, "and that involved plenty of Polyjuice—"

"We can make some," she interrupted.

"—and almost a month of planning," he continued.

"We've got time," she countered, "lots of it."

"Please, Luna."  Harry lost his patience.  "Even _if_ —and that's a big _if_ —I could break into a high-security, top-secret ICW base, it would still be a lot simpler, just to ask for permission.

Luna giggled, "But not nearly as much fun…"

Harry saw red and almost lost his temper, then and there.  Somehow, he managed to keep his tone mostly level, "I'd like to keep the life-threatening _fun_ to a minimum, if possible, thank you."

"Then why do you want to start the war over?"  Luna didn't appear to notice how upset Harry was becoming.

He did lose his temper then, "You think I'm doing all this for _fun_?  I'm doing it to save lives!  For a better future!  If you're just in it for the _fun_ , you can forget about coming along!"

Luna blanched at his outburst, but only for a moment.  "No journey is worth embarking on, no matter how wonderful the destination, if you don't at least try to have fun along the way," she replied, her voice as serene as ever.

Harry deflated, most of his anger diffused, "I'd still rather just ask for permission."

"Suit yourself," Luna replied her tone and expression indicating that she still disagreed, "Will we still go if we don't have permission?"

"I don't know.  We'll see…"

"You never did say; where exactly are we 'maybe' going?"

"Marie Byrd Land, Antarctica."

Luna squealed, "We're going to Antarctica!?  I've always wanted to go to Antarctica!"

Harry suppressed a groan, "Only if the International Confederation of Wizards gives us permission."

"But you just said that we'd go, even if they didn't give us permission."

"No, I said 'we'll see,'" he corrected.

"Same thing," grinned Luna, undeterred, "Do you think we'll see any Belgica, while we're in Antarctica?"

"What are Belgica?"  Harry regretted the question almost as soon as he'd uttered it, but it was too late to take the words back.

"Belgica are tiny deep purplish black flies with no wings.  They make people restless, and irritable, and irrational.  And if you have a really bad infestation they make you paranoid about everything and everyone else that's around you."

'Flies without wings, honestly,' Harry thought to himself, but rather than try to contradict her, he responded, "Sounds like something to avoid."

"Oh definitely," agreed Luna, "We had an article once in the Quibbler about a wizard that wandered off into a blizzard and died, after he found a cluster of them."

The silence in the room was heavy.  Luna made no move to leave, nor did she ask any more questions or say more about the mysterious Belgica.

Harry broke the silence.  "I really need to get back to my letter, Luna."

Luna didn't move; she just continued to stare at him while sitting cross-legged on his bed.

At first, Harry just stared back.  Then, when it became obvious that she wasn't planning on leaving, he turned back to his letter.

Even with his back turned to her, he could feel the weight of her eyes fixed upon him.  He couldn't concentrate.  Try as he might, he found himself unable to make any significant progress.

Finally, after about five minutes, he gave up and turned back around and said, as politely as possible, "I'm sorry Luna, but I can't write with you watching me like that."

Harry thought he saw a brief flash of disappointment cross her face, but before he could mention it, it was gone, replaced by her usual dreamy look, "I'll go keep Kreacher company then.  He seemed very lonely last night."

Harry nodded, turning back to his writing, once more.

Three hours—and twenty drafts—later, he put the finishing touches on the letter.  Though it probably didn't come out sounding as intelligent as it would have if Hermione had helped him to write it, he was pretty sure he made his point clear.  And, unless Luna had a sudden change of heart, and offered to help him, it was as good as it was going to get.

When Harry headed down to the ground floor, he found Luna sitting on the drawing room floor.  She was listening attentively to Kreacher, who was dusting the furniture while talking animatedly about Sirius' ancestor Cygnus Black.

"I'm going out for a while," Harry addressed them both.  "I need to deliver this letter to the Ministry, and run a few errands."

He was half expecting Luna to object to being left behind—and a tiny part of him was hoping she'd offer to read the letter over.  Instead, he hardly received an acknowledgement—just a nod from her before she prompted Kreacher to continue his story, "What did Walburga do when she found out?"

Harry sighed, disappointed, but decided that she was probably just annoyed with him because of his earlier rebuff.

Luna was still in the exact same position, when he returned an hour later.  Kreacher had moved over to the drapes and was now talking about Lucretia Black.

Kreacher spotted him first, "Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry.  Kreacher just cleaned the floor."

"Sorry, Kreacher," Harry responded, chagrined, before returning to the entrance hall to leave his shoes by the door.

Luna followed him out, "What's wrong, Harry?" she asked, "You look grumpy."

Harry sighed, "Not here," he whispered, directing her up the stairs.

He waited until they were safely out of earshot for Mrs Black before responding, "I tried to apply for an international Portkey, while I was at the Ministry delivering my letter, but the Ministry still hasn't reopened international borders.  When they said no, straight after the final battle, I could understand.  But the war's been over nearly three weeks…"

Luna tilted her head in contemplation, "Why do you need to cross the channel now, Harry? I thought you were waiting for permission from the ICW."

"I need to check newspaper archives to research the happenings of 1981," he explained, "The Carrows were pretty thorough in their destruction of anything even remotely useful at Hogwarts, and with the destruction of the Daily Prophet…"

Luna giggled, "You don't need to cross the channel for that, Harry.  Daddy has archives going back years and years.  They were in the cellar, so most of them survived, even when the Death Eaters blew up our house our house."

Harry shook his head, trying to search for a delicate way to tell her that The Quibbler wasn't quite the newspaper he was looking for—without disparaging it.  Finally he settled on, "I need something with a little more detail about daily events, than the Quibbler, Luna, but thanks."

"Oh, we have the plenty of Daily Prophets too—even though Daddy always said The Daily Prophet wasn't worth the parchment it was printed on—and Witch Weekly, and Wizarding Geographic, and Magical Wildlife…  We even had a whole pile of PlayWizards—though Daddy hid those under his mattress, so they _might_ have been destroyed.  Daddy liked to keep a record of all his competition."

Harry grinned, "Really?  Would you mind if I had a look at them?"

"Not at all," she answered.  Harry's grin widened briefly, but faded somewhat when she continued, " _After_ you fill me in on your plan.  You were a little skimpy on the details yesterday."

Harry sighed, "This might take a while.  Let's go back to my room and sit down."

Harry hesitated before launching into his explanation.  Luna was right.  He hadn't told her much the night before.  Then again, aside from the Weasley eulogy, he hadn't said much of anything to anyone since the war ended.  Every time he tried, it just seemed to tear open painful wounds.  So, instead, he'd spent most of his time wallowing around Grimmauld Place, and working on his letter to the ICW—when he wasn't busy traipsing around Wizarding Great Britain from one funeral to another.

Explaining things properly to Luna meant willingly opening up those same wounds he'd been trying to ignore these past weeks.  It also meant opening himself up to be ridiculed, if she thought his plans impossible or a waste of time and effort.  She hadn't laughed at him the night before but…

And so he found himself explaining everything to Luna.  He started with the prophecy and its implications, none of which seemed to surprise her.  Only when he moved on to explain about Voldemort's Horcruxes did he elicit a gasp of surprise, which she followed up with a couple of strange questions.

Her eyes glistened with barely contained tears when he told her about having reunited the three Deathly Hallows, which her father had spent so much of his life seeking.  They widened as he told her all he knew about Merlin's Ring, and shared Dumbledore's theory that he might be able to bring the Hallows with him.

She listened quietly, trying to grasp the immense scale of his quest as he then explained what he was planning: preventing the death of his parents on Halloween 1981, destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes before he had a chance to rise again, thwarting Death Eater attacks…

"So you see why I need the information about 1981?" he asked, when he'd finished his explanations.

Luna nodded slowly but said nothing, at first, as she continued to process all the information that Harry had shared.  Finally she seemed to make up her mind.

"Yes, yes, definitely," she nodded more vigorously as she added "We can go to Daddy's office, to pick up the newspapers, now if you'd like.  This is going to be _fun_ …"

"Sounds like a plan," Harry agreed.

"And while you do that, I can pack everything I'm going to need to move in with you," she added, "By the sound of things you're _really_ going to need my help."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks once again to my beta Arnel for her input on this chapter. I would also like to thank LiL-kristin-o7 who pointed out that grabbing Harry's manhood instead of his arm was a little weird even for Luna and blind-bella who sat with me in a coffee-shop on Saturday and listened to me read through the second to last draft of this chapter.


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't believe it!"  Harry Potter muttered under his breath, his scowl only hinting at his annoyance.

He and Luna were well into their second week of sorting through old newspapers and had had to banish Kreacher from the library, shortly after setting up shop there.  Left unchecked, the poor elf simply couldn't resist tidying up—every single time he entered the room.  Unfortunately, though there was a certain order to the jumble of newspapers and newspaper clippings that filled all corners of the room, it was one that only they could understand, and the elf's well-meaning efforts kept setting them back.

Thus, when Kreacher popped in on them one morning, about two weeks after being ordered to stay out, they were understandably startled, and more than a little annoyed.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to reprimand the elderly elf, he noticed the official-looking letter—stamped with the letters 'ICW'.  Reprimand forgotten, he eagerly snatched the envelope from Kreacher's outstretched hand, instead, smiling wildly as he thanked him.

"What is it?" asked Luna, as the house-elf popped out of the room, curious as to what might have gotten Harry into such a state of excitement.

"A reply from the International Confederation of Wizards; do you think they said yes?" he said, as he broke open the seal.

"No," Luna’s response was blunt.

Harry looked up, startled, "Pardon?"

"I think they said no," she repeated.

Harry shook his head in bewilderment, "When did you become such a pessimist?"

"When did you become such an optimist?"

Harry sighed, but decided that there was no point in arguing about it.  "Never mind, only one way to find out…"

Within seconds of pulling out the letter, and beginning to read, his smile had disappeared, replaced by a frown that grew deeper with each passing minute, before transforming into a snarl of rage by the time he reached the end of the letter.

Luna watched in silence; though she'd strongly suspected that Harry wouldn't be happy with the letter's contents—she'd tried to warn him—it still hurt to see him so disappointed, so angry.  Finally, when it looked like he he'd finished, she asked gently, "Are you okay, Harry?"

Harry took a few deep calming breaths, before responding, "Here, read for yourself," and handing her the letter.

_Dear Mr Potter,_

_We have received your request to study and attempt to use Merlin's Ring.  After careful consideration, we regret to inform you that we will not be granting your request._

_The problem which you propose to address by travelling through the Ring has, in fact, already been resolved.  While the death toll in both Wizarding and Muggle Great Britain is certainly regrettable, it does not justify meddling in matters that have already been settled, particularly given the complexity of situation you describe.  It is our belief that the risks involved in attempting to change the outcome of your conflict with the wizard styling himself Lord Voldemort, far outweigh any potential benefits._

_It also bears mentioning that given the state in which the Wizarding community of Great Britain currently finds itself, and given your status as a war hero and as a public figure, your nation and its people currently require your services.  Thus, we cannot in good conscience assist you in your attempt to abandon them._

_We would, however, like to take this opportunity to extend you an invitation to fill the currently vacant Confederation seat, previously occupied by your mentor, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore._

_Sincerely,_

**_Carlotta Pinkstone_ **

_Supreme Mugwump_

Harry gave Luna enough time to finish reading the letter before speaking, "If those stuffed up politicians think I'd even consider joining them after that disgusting excuse for a rejection letter, they have another think coming for them… You still feeling up to breaking into the high-security, top-secret ICW Antarctica Base, Luna?"

Luna nodded, smiling brightly, with barely contained excitement, "Of course, Harry!  I'm definitely up for it!"

Harry gave her a wry smile, "Thanks for not saying, 'I told you so'."

"I told you so," she teased.

Harry's brief scowl at her pronouncement, faded when he noted the twinkle in her eyes.  He quickly changed the subject, "So, any ideas how we can get all the way to Antarctica, without the International Confederation of Wizards catching on?"

"We'll go with the Muggles," Luna responded, as though stating the obvious, "they have all kinds of expeditions during the Antarctic summer…"

"And how exactly are we supposed to convince them to take us along—without resorting to Imperious?” Harry asked. “Those expeditions are for Muggle scientists."

"We could always pretend to be Muggle scientists—" Luna suggested.

Harry cut her off, "We would never be able to keep up the charade long enough for it to be of any use.”  Clearly, like most purebloods, Luna's understanding of the complexity of Muggle science was somewhat lacking…

"So then we'll just have to apply for positions as GAs," Luna responded, with a touch of finality, as though that was what she'd had in mind all along.

"And what are GAs?" asked Harry hesitantly, unsure whether he should really be encouraging this particular line of discussion, given her tendency to believe in things that didn't exist.

"Operations general assistants, they do all the menial tasks for the Muggle scientists—most of the bases have at least a couple, some as many as ten," she clarified.

"How exactly do you know this?"  Harry asked, still suspicious.

"I looked it up after you told me we were going to Antarctica.  Daddy kept reference material on all sorts of places.  I used to plan all kinds of adventures in my head, when I was little.  There was even this amazing article on Crumple-Horned Seals—they're distant relative of the Crumple-Horned Snorkack, except they prefer colder climates and they hunt under the ice. Do you think we'll see any while we're in Antarctica?

"I really don't think we'll have time to hunt down Crumple-Horned Seals, Luna," Harry pointed out.

"That's okay," she responded, "It'll still be an adventure."

Harry didn't bother objecting to her use of the word 'adventure.'  "As long as we're clear on our goals…  We're going to Antarctica to find and use Merlin's Ring, _not_ to chase after Crumple-Horned Seals, or any other creatures…"

Luna nodded sagely, "No zoological expeditions, I promise."

Harry let the subject drop.  "So, do you know about any Muggle expeditions in Marie Byrd Land?  That's where Merlin's Ring is supposed to be hidden…" he asked.

Luna frowned.  "Not specifically—" Her expression lightened "—but there are a few every year – Daddy says so!  I'm sure we can find out somehow.  Of course, Marie Byrd Land covers hundreds of millions of acres, so we're really going to need a way to narrow our search…"

Harry sighed, "What we need is a magic detector…Unless…wait… Muggles have all kinds of pictures of the Earth from space.  I'm willing to bet big magical hotspots show up on some of those images, and they just haven't been able to figure out what it all means because of all the Muggle-repelling wards preventing them from exploring."

Luna looked pensive, "Can you read these Muggle pictures, Harry?"

"No, but maybe I don't have to," he responded, "We can probably get the Muggles to tell us themselves.  We can pretend to be journalists, and tell a Muggle scientist that we're doing a report on the exploration of Marie Byrd Land.  Then once we get them talking, which shouldn't be hard—Uncle Vernon was always complaining that academics never shut up about their work once you show an interest—we slide in a question about anomalies that they can't explain…  It should work, _if_ we ask the right questions, and find the right expert…"

"And if we don't, we can always try again," reassured Luna, "It sounds like it might be worth attempting."

She stood up abruptly, "You stay here; I'll go get Daddy's papers about Antarctica from my room…  I'm sure he's got a list of Muggle scientists in there somewhere…"

Luna skipped out of the room before her companion could respond.

Harry had just finished tidying up the mess of newspapers scattered across the library table, to a semblance of order, when she returned juggling a pile of scrolls, in one arm, while reading an unrolled one that she held in the other.

The young witch stopped just short of running into Harry, "Here we are.  Found it!"

She handed him the scroll she'd been reading, "According to Daddy's notes, most of the Muggle scientists in Great Britain that know anything about Antarctica work at a place called the British Antarctic Survey, in Cambridge.  So if we try your idea that's the nearest we can properly find out anything, don't you think?"

"However, according to this—" she pulled another scroll from the pile and thrusting it excitedly at Harry, pointed to an article halfway down "—if we're going to Marie Byrd Land then I suppose our best hope is the American Muggles.  A group of Muggle scientists called jeealegists are installing something called GSP there this year.  They'll be camping in the Ford Ranges this year and I'm sure it will be lovely there!"

Harry stared, flabbergasted at her researching efficiency—she couldn't have been gone more than a couple of minutes—and finally understood why she'd been sorted into Ravenclaw.

He nodded, "That sounds good.  Though, it occurred to me while you were gone that we should probably try just asking Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait, first.  Maybe we'll get lucky, and he already knows the Ring's location…  We can go to Hogwarts tomorrow, if you like; I have a few other questions that I need to ask him anyway…  If he can't help us, then we can come up with a plan to get the Muggle scientists to tell us…"

They looked at each other and grinned.  Tomorrow’s conversation promised to be interesting, if nothing else.  Hopefully it would be productive, as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my new pre-beta Hippothestrowl, who is almost as hard on me as I am on myself. Also, thanks once again to my beta Arnel for her input on this chapter, particularly for pointing out important detail I'd forgotten.


	10. Chapter 10

Harry felt strangely nervous as he stepped over the broken guardian at the base of the stairway leading up to the headmistress's office, and climbed the moving stairs.  He and Luna had made it to Hogwarts, without incident and managed to avoid talking to anyone—despite the clean-up crews still milling around in large numbers—Harry, through judicious use of his Invisibility Cloak, and Luna by simply ignoring everyone that tried to get her attention.

When they opened the door at the top of the stairs, the newly appointed Headmistress McGonagall looked up from the paperwork she was sorting through on the large desk, "Good morning, Mr Potter, Miss Lovegood.  To what do I owe the pleasure of today's visit?  Have you come to volunteer to lend a hand?"

"Good morning, Professor—I mean Headmistress—no—I mean sorry—I mean we’re not here about the cleanup.  I was hoping—I mean… do you think we could have a few minutes alone in your office with Headmaster Dumbledore's portrait, please," Harry stumbled through his response.

Luna ignored the question in favour of wandering over to the Headmistress’s bookshelves, and admiring the collection of books amassed by several centuries of headmasters.

For a moment McGonagall looked as though she might be offended, but then she nodded curtly, "Certainly, Mister Potter."  She gathered up some papers and turned to leave, "I shall be in the teacher's lounge if you should need me."

"Thank you, Headmistress," said Harry.  As she made her way out of the room, he took a moment to look around.  Not much had changed.  Aside from the Pensieve being back where it belonged, and the desk being slightly tidier, the room was exactly as Harry remembered the morning after the final battle. 

The realization caused a pang of sadness to rise up within and it was a moment before he recovered his composure enough to address the sleeping portrait he had come to see, "Professor Dumbledore?"

The portrait startled awake.  “Oh, good day, Mr Potter, and it seems that you’ve brought Miss Lovegood with you.”  He nodded in the direction of Luna who had now wandered away from the bookshelf and was instead inspecting some of his trinkets.  “Am I to understand that she’ll be joining you on your quest?”

Luna nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, Headmaster!  Harry invited me to help him break into a high-security, top-secret ICW base in Antarctica, and re-write history.”

“Break-in?” asked Dumbledore, “The ICW hasn’t given their permission then?”

Luna shook her head, “They're all infected with vanusgenes!”

“They gave all kinds of fancy reasons, but I’m pretty sure the real reason is politics,” added Harry.  “So...  Luna and I have decided to give it a go on our own.  That’s one of the reasons we wanted to talk to you: do you know where it is, exactly?  Marie Byrd Land is huge!"

Luna nodded, and added, “Yes it’s hundreds of millions of acres, and a lot of that is mountains.”

The portrait shook his head, "I'm afraid I can't help you with that, Harry.  All I know is that it's hidden somewhere in Marie Byrd Land.  I tried to avoid knowing too many specifics, in order to cut down on the many temptations involved in the Ring."

"I was afraid you might say that," Harry sighed.  "What about the defences?"

"I only know that they aren't very extensive.  The International Confederation of Wizards is relying mostly on the location's remoteness, inhospitable climate, and secrecy, as well as the Ring's natural defences, which are reputed to destroy anyone who tries to put it to nefarious use, as I mentioned before.

“The strongest wards in place are the Muggle Repelling ones.  You won't be able to approach by Muggle vehicle.  I'd probably recommend cold weather dogs as preferred method of transportation—the Muggles have banned them on the continent, but I'm sure you and Miss Lovegood can transfigure something for your use."

Harry glanced sideways at Luna; Tranfiguration wasn’t his strong-suit.

“Don’t worry about that, Harry,” she reassured him, and then as if to prove her point, she pointed her wand at the trinket she’d been examining, transforming it nearly effortlessly into a calico cat.  “See?”

Harry did see, but before he could respond, the newly transfigured cat leapt from the shelf it sat on to another, causing several fragile items to fall to the ground and shatter.

Twenty minutes, and numerous bloody scratches later, Harry finally managed to catch the beast and hold onto it long enough for Luna to reverse the transfiguration.  It took another twenty minutes to repair all the damage it had caused to the office and its contents in that short time.

Finally, a slightly dishevelled, but no longer bleeding Harry collapsed into the headmistress’s chair and turned back to the portrait, "We have a few more questions…”

"I can certainly try to answer them," answered the portrait, good-naturedly.

"First off, I’m confused about the Fidelius Charm," began Harry, "If the only people that could find our home in Godric's Hollow, were those that Pettigrew shared the secret with, how did Hagrid find me?  And what about the hundreds of well-wishers that wrote on the sign in front of the house?  They couldn’t have all been in on the secret.  Did the Charm fall?  And how?  The Fidelius on Headquarters survived even after you died.”

"Yes, Harry, it fell with the death of your parents," confirmed Dumbledore.  "The strength of a Fidelius Charm depends not only on the continued existence of the Secret Keeper, but also on the perseverance of the secret.  As long as the secret continues to be true the Charm will persevere, regardless of the state of health of the Secret Keeper.  Otherwise, it would be a simple matter of killing the Secret Keeper, to find one's prey.

"It’s impossible to be sure without knowing the exact words used but, in your case, I believe the Fidelius fell after the death of both your parents, when the secret went from being something along the lines of, 'The Potter family is hiding in their cottage in Godric's Hollow...' to being 'Harry Potter is hiding in his cottage in Godric's Hollow...'  The charm failed to adapt to the change and thus, it fell," explained Dumbledore.

"So, no one except those that Pettigrew had shared the secret with could have found my home until both my parents were dead," repeated Harry.

"Most likely," agreed Dumbledore.  "Depending on the wording, it is also possible that the Charm died when your father did."

"I don't suppose you know who Pettigrew shared the secret with, aside from Voldemort?”

"Only that I was not included."

"What about me?" asked Harry, "Would Pettigrew have had to share the secret with my parents and me, or were we immune because we were the secret?"

"No," answered Dumbledore, "He would definitely have had to share the secret with you and your parents—much in the same way that each member of the Order had to been told the location of Headquarters—for you to be able to see and recognize each other, and to be able to enter your own home."

"So _I_ should still be able to find my family home, even if I travel back in time to before my parents died—to when the Fidelius Charm was still active?" asked Harry.

"Almost certainly," said Dumbledore.

"Only almost?"

"Travelling through time, as you plan to do involves a large series of unknowns, such that it is impossible to know anything for sure.  However, I can foresee no circumstances that are likely to wipe that knowledge from your mind, especially now that you’ve been there as an adult and know where it is."

“But Harry would have to go alone?”  Luna’s interruption startled Harry; she’d wandered off again midway through the headmaster’s explanation, and he’d almost forgotten she was there.  “I wouldn’t be able to go with him?”

The headmaster shook his head, “No, you wouldn’t be able to get through the wards, or see through the Charm.”

Harry nodded, "Makes sense.  And if I decided to evacuate the Potters to Hogwarts before Voldemort shows up, would that cause the Charm to fall?"

Dumbledore nodded, then shook his head, "It depends on the phrasing of the secret.  For instance, if we take my previous example, 'The Potter family is hiding in their cottage in Godric's Hollow...' the charm will almost certainly fall, the moment they are no longer hiding there.  If however, the secret was a little more versatile, for instance, 'The Potter family lives in a cottage in Godric's Hollow...' simply relocating temporarily, would not affect the strength of the charm."

Harry nodded, "Okay, so I can’t evacuate my parents without asking them what words they used.  There goes the stun first, answer questions later approach…I—”

“Why do you have to ask them?”  Luna cut him off, as she opened the cabinet where Harry had found the headmaster’s Pensieve the night of the final battle.

“Well, I don’t think asking Pettigrew would go over too well, Luna.”

“No, that’s not what I mean.  _You_ already know the secret, Harry,” she gestured to the Pensieve.

Harry looked puzzled for a moment.  “No, I don’t…or I do, but I don’t remember…Oh!  Is there some way I can make myself remember something that happened when I was a baby, Headmaster?  Would the Pensieve work?” he asked.

"No, you need be able to consciously recall at least the vague details of an incident to be able to collect the memories for Pensieve viewing,” answered Dumbledore.  “Childhood memories are a generally considered tricky business.  There's a reason Obliviating youngsters is frowned upon.  Some Mind Healers have had limited success with a rather complicated meditation technique called Peithomancy.  There’s a rather specialized potion involved, followed up by inducing a meditative trance, and then asking the patient questions to encourage recall.  I’ve also heard some cases of it being combined with Legilimency when conscious recall is particularly difficult."

“And where am I going to find a Mind Healer I can trust and that won’t go blabbing to the papers the minute I leave their office?” asked Harry.

“All Healers take an oath to practice their craft ethically and to protect the privacy of their patients,” reassured Dumbledore.

"Thanks Headmaster, I’ll have to think about it.”  Harry hesitated, unconvinced.  He didn’t like the idea of letting a stranger riffle through his memories, but it was worth considering if it would help them plan ahead better. 

"So if I can evacuate them without breaking the Charm, is there somewhere safe they could hide without being seen?  A Portkey to somewhere in the castle?" he continued with their previous line of discussion.

Dumbledore shook his head, "The only person that can set up a Portkey anywhere on the grounds is the current Headmaster or Headmistress—if it were as simple as that, Voldemort would have attacked Hogwarts much sooner than he did," Dumbledore explained.

"So how then did Barty Crouch Junior make a Portkey to the graveyard during the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore sighed, "Crouch only succeeded as he did because the cup was already a Portkey.  I had charmed it to deliver the winner onto the podium, at the end of the Task.  Since the Portkey had originally been cast by Hogwart's Headmaster, the wards permitted it to work, even after Crouch had managed to alter its destination.

“Of course there is nothing preventing you from depositing them somewhere outside the wards—the Shrieking Shack, for instance..."

“The Shrieking Shack is haunted by tormented souls,” interrupted Luna.

“No, it isn’t,” said Harry.  When she looked unconvinced, he added, “I’ll explain later.”

He looked back to the Headmaster, "Do you remember what the password to your office was on October 31st, 1981?  In case I need to speak to you..."

The portrait paused for a moment, deep in thought, "Alas, even my recall is not perfect.  I do like to choose Halloween themed sweets as my password around that time of year, but...it was sixteen years ago..."

Harry sighed, but then moved on; it had been a long shot…  "Okay... next question: How did you get to Marvolo Gaunt's ring?  And what should I do differently, if I don’t want to lose a hand in the process?"

Harry was pleasantly surprised when Dumbledore proceeded, without argument or deflection, to describe the defences in far more details than he had ever been willing to share with Harry back when he had been alive, ending with, “As for how to avoid losing your hand; I would advise against touching the ring with your bare skin, and most importantly against slipping it onto a finger, regardless of how tempting it may seem—though perhaps less so for yourself who already possesses and controls this world's version of the Resurrection Stone."

"Any ideas how I might get my hands on Hufflepuff's Cup, without breaking into Gringotts?" asked Harry, filing away the information for later use.

“We’re not going to break into Gringotts?” asked Luna, sounding disappointed, before the Headmaster could respond.

Harry glared at her, hadn’t they already covered this issue?  He took a few calming breaths before responding, through clenched teeth, “No, we are not breaking into Gringotts—unless it’s _absolutely unavoidable_.”

Harry’s anger was diffused by Dumbledore’s response, "I agree with Mr Potter, breaking into Gringotts should be considered only as a last resort.  The best advice I can offer, would be to somehow convince one of the Lestranges to remove the cup themselves; the goblins are notoriously uncooperative with the Ministry with regards to providing access to the vaults of their patrons, even in cases where it is suspected they contain stolen property.”

Harry smiled wryly, "Thanks anyways, Headmaster.” 

He turned to Luna, “Can you think of any questions I missed?”  When she responded in the negative he continued, "We probably won't be coming back again; so, thanks for everything, Headmaster..."

"Good luck, Harry, and farewell," responded the wizard in the portrait.

Luna followed as Harry turned to leave.  Halfway down the stairs he pulled his cloak back on; not only did he not want to be intercepted, he’d also rather not have to explain his current appearance. 

As they crossed the grounds in silence, he allowed himself to contemplate the next step along the path they were forging.  This was it, from here on out they were on their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my new pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	11. Chapter 11

"Finally!" Harry exclaimed after hanging up the Muggle payphone for the fifth time that day.

Harry had spent the better part of the three days since his visit to Hogwarts trying to get an appointment to see one of the scientists on the list of British Antarctica experts. Unfortunately, the list had been both out of date and a little scarce on useful contact details. It had taken about three dozen phone calls, but he finally had an appointment to meet with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney at the Cambridge headquarters of the British Antarctic Survey, in one week’s time.

Harry and Luna spent most—though not all—of the week at the British Library trying to familiarize themselves with enough Muggle science to muddle through the upcoming interview. They were somewhat hampered in their efforts by Luna's inability to comprehend computers, and Harry's inefficiency at research who had always relied heavily on Hermione to help him navigate the Hogwarts library.

When the date of the interview finally arrived, Harry Apparated them both to Cambridge and having secured Luna's promise to allow him to do all the talking, he approached the receptionist, a petite brunette, at the front entrance. "Good afternoon, Miss, my name is Harry Potter." Harry took a moment to savour the novelty of someone not glancing up at his fringe after hearing that introduction before continuing, "and this is my associate Luna Lovegood. We represent a small newspaper called the Quibbler. We have an appointment with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney."

"ID please," said the receptionist in the monotonous tone of voice associated with the boredom of a routine job.

Harry handed over a set of forged press passes.

"Do you have an appointment?" she asked—having obviously not been paying attention to a word Harry had said.

"Yes," he repeated with a patience he was not feeling, "we have a two o'clock appointment with Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney."

"Oh," she grumbled, sitting up a little straighter, "Just a moment then, while I contact the administration office."

She picked up the phone by her side, then proceeded to ignore them completely as she addressed the device in her hand, "It's Ida at the front desk, I've got a couple of reporters here... Oh? They _do_ have an appointment? Okay, I'll send them up."

She looked back up at Harry and Luna, "Deputy Director Dr John Dudeney, will see you now. His office is on the fifth floor. The lift is around the corner on the left."

Harry tried to thank her, but her attention was already back on her workstation.

The receptionist in the administration offices was much more inviting. She greeted them with a smile and a 'Good Afternoon' and clear directions to the Deputy Director's Office.

"Good afternoon, Dr Dudeney," Harry greeted the Deputy Director of the BAS, as the scientist beckoned them into his office, "Thank you for seeing us. My name is Harry Potter, and this is my associate Luna Lovegood.

"As I told your receptionist, when I called for an appointment, we represent a small newspaper called the Quibbler and we're hoping to write a piece on research in Antarctica. Your name came up as someone who might have a few answers."

"Pleased to meet you both. Please, take a seat," said the scientist, gesturing to two seats, piled with loose papers. Noticing their hesitation he added, "Oh, you can just put those on the floor. My apologies for the mess; I usually try to clean up when I'm expecting visitors, but I just haven't had the time."

"Don't worry about it. Our office is in a similar state," said Harry, as he set the papers on the ground and sat down, pulling a clipboard out of the book bag he'd brought. "How about you start by telling us a little about yourself?" he asked, in attempt to draw attention away from Luna—who seemed to be rifling through the stack of papers on the chair she’d been offered, instead of moving them aside.

"Certainly," answered the scientist, "When I first joined the BAS I worked the Upper Atmospheric Services Division. I became their head of department in 1990, until I was named Deputy Director of the BAS, this year."

"What would you like to share with our readers about the work the BAS is doing in Antarctica?" Harry asked next, and sat back pretending to take notes.

As the scientist took off at lightning speed in his description of the BAS's most prominent projects, Harry tried to gesture discreetly at Luna to sit down, instead of wandering around and poking around the office as she was doing. After ignoring him for a good ten minutes, she finally plopped into the seat, just as Dr Dudeney, paused for breath. 

Harry immediately asked another question, cutting the scientist off before he could comment on Luna’s invasion of his privacy—though, considering how passionate he’d been in his response to Harry’s first question, he might not have even noticed.

As Dr Dudeney started talking once more, Luna caught Harry's eyes and whispered, “Why didn’t you ask him about the location?”' Harry frowned back at her, and shook his head to indicate not yet.

Every once in a while, Harry asked a question about what the Deputy Director had been saying, when he appeared to be running out of wind, but for the most part, Dr Dudeney's presentation was self-sufficient, as he discussed his passion with an apparently captive audience.

While Harry seemed content to let the man talk about whatever he wanted, Luna was less patient, and kept tugging at Harry’s sleeve each time he asked a question she didn’t approve of. After a half-hour of keeping her promise to let Harry do most of the talking, she interrupted at the next pause in the monologue, "What can you tell us about the Belgica?"

Harry kicked her, and whispered, "Luna!” —a moment too late.

But he need not have worried, Dr Dudeney had begun answering the question, oblivious to the exchange between his two guests, "While biology is not my area of expertise, I have learned a little about the subject, by virtue of my new position. As I understand it, belgica antarctica is the largest purely terrestrial animal and only true insect that we have discovered in Antarctica. They are members of the suborder midge family which seem to have evolved a lack of wings as a defence mechanism against strong Antarctican winds. They are generally a few millimetres long, deep purplish black in coloration and have a lifecycle of about two years. They can survive a large variety of environmental changes as well as the freezing of their body fluids and severe dehydration..."

"Told you they were real!" whispered Luna, just as the scientist finished describing the insect. Then, emboldened by her initial success, she asked another question, "And what can you tell us about Crumple-Horned Seals?

The scientist responded with a blank look, "Can't say I've heard of them, and I do know most the vertebrate species living in and around Antarctica."

Harry gave Luna an exasperated look, then addressed the scientist, "My apologies for my colleague. She's a big fan of mythology and sometimes forgets the difference between real and made-up creatures." Then changing the subject, suggested, "Perhaps you could tell us a little about the living conditions in your Antarctica base camps?"

Luna grumbled at Harry's description of her, but allowed him to take back control of the interview, instead sitting back and taking notes.

Finally, as the interview was winding down, and discussion turned to advances in satellite reconnaissance, Harry, found the opening he'd been waiting for to ask the question they'd come to have answered, "We've heard rumours about anomalies noted on recent aerial and satellite reconnaissance imaging of Antarctica, particularly in the area of Marie Byrd land. Can you confirm anything about these rumours?"

Dr Dudeney, paused before answering, choosing his words carefully, "Why do you ask? Such rumours are hardly newsworthy for any paper short of a tabloid."

The serious nature of the challenge seemed to go straight over Luna's head but Harry understood it—he'd been expecting it, and had planned accordingly. "Just a wager I have with one of the guys back at the office. He claimed that you would try to cover it up, that scientists are always trying to hide data they can't explain. I bet him twenty quid that you were an honest man, and would confirm the rumours if they were true. We certainly have no intention of printing such information…"

"I see," answered the scientist, "Marie Byrd Land is not our area of study, but I do recall hearing something of the sort. They were, most likely, simply filed away to preserve the integrity of the whole data, since there was no way to interpret them. If you give me a moment, I'll see if I can pull up the images." Turning his back on his guests, he faced his computer screen and typed a few commands.

Five minutes later, a printer buried under a pile of books started spitting out papers. Dr Dudeney retrieved them and handed them over to his guests, "As you can see here, the anomalies seem to be isolated to 76°31′S 145°43′W between Mount Iphigene and Marujupu Peak in the Ford Ranges in western Marie Byrd Land.

“The Americans filed a report claiming that they have tried to explore the area in question but have been unable to get a clear visual due to frequent and intense whiteouts and equipment breakdowns whenever they get anywhere nearer than five miles from the calculated location of the anomaly..."

Harry smiled, "Thank you, Doctor. This will definitely take the wind out of Seamus's sail. And, thank you, once again for the interview." He stood to shake the older man's hand. "We'll see ourselves out."

As he and Luna stepped outside, Harry let out the breath he hadn't realised that he'd been holding. It seemed the gamble had paid off, and they had the information that they'd been after. Now if only he could figure out what to do with it...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	12. Chapter 12

" _James, Lily, and Harry Potter are hiding at number 5 Cherry Road in Godric's Hollow."_

Harry couldn't help but be disappointed. He'd spent weeks trying to convince a Mind Healer to use Peithomancy on him, and to ask the questions he wanted. Apparently, finding her and setting up the initial appointment had been the easy part…

First, he'd endured several sessions, during which she'd tried to get him to talk about his feelings. Then, he'd put up with being labelled with about a half-dozen psychological diagnoses that he'd never even heard of, when he refused to co-operate. In the end, he'd only convinced her to do as he asked by promising to be more co-operative once she'd done so—a promise he had no intention of following up on.

So, to go through all that effort, only to find out that the secret was phrased in such a way that he wouldn't be able to evacuate any of the Potters without causing the charm to fall the moment they were no longer _hiding_ in Godric's Hollow…disappointed was an understatement. He didn't want to tip his hand before Voldemort showed up at Godric's Hollow on Halloween, or to do anything to prevent him from showing up… His entire plan hinged on Voldemort showing up…

 _But, how could he keep them safe—which was the point of this whole endeavour—if he couldn't evacuate them?_ The question echoed through his thoughts his whole way home and if it hadn't been for Luna reminding him of all the other things that they had to worry about, he probably would have spent the next month obsessing over the question.

And, there _was_ plenty to do without focusing on the one thing that he couldn't change. Fine-tuning their plans and gathering supplies for their Antarctica expedition, was only a small part of what needed to get done. For there to even _be_ an Antarctica expedition, first they'd have to find a way of getting themselves positions as general operation assistants with the specific group of American Muggles that would bring them closest to their ultimate destination.

It wasn't a simple task, especially since they were operating from halfway around the world. There were countless Muggle documents to forge and hundreds of phone calls to make— most of them international. Then, there were bribes to offer foreign Muggle dignitaries —a task that had first required Harry to convince the goblins to hand over his money, something they were wont to do, given the grudge they insisted on harbouring over his successful break-in several months prior—and perhaps a few instances of illegal mind control.

It would have been a lot simpler if they could have just Apparated, but in addition to the exorbitant distances involved, they lacked a clear visual of their destination and a clear understanding of the defences surrounding the Ring.

So, as they struggled with the seemingly impossible task of securing themselves places on the American Ford Range expedition, Harry found himself increasingly grateful for Luna's company. He could not imagine doing it all on his own. While she might have been useless at making phone-calls—she still couldn't figure out which end of the phone to talk into—but she'd done a lot of the legwork, including some research and spell-work he himself had struggled with.

Even with all the efforts they put in, Harry was left with a feeling that it had all been too easy, when they finally did manage, to secure the elusive positions by the end of August. _Perhaps it was Fate's way of making up for the rotten hand she'd dealt him thus far?_

Finally, on September first—they were cutting things a little close as far as timing was concerned, since they were expected in California that very same day, but Harry had chosen the date for its personal significance—they stood in the entrance hall of Grimmauld Place with their bags packed.

Harry paused to say his goodbyes to Kreacher. "Luna and I are leaving on a trip, and we don't expect to be coming back. When you feel our bond break, I want you to go stay with my godson Theodore Lupin and his grandmother Andromeda Tonks; they're to be your new Masters."

Kreacher didn't take the news well, "Has Kreacher failed to serve Master well, that he desires to rid himself of Kreacher?"

Harry pushed away the memories of a time when he would have liked nothing better than to rid himself of Kreacher, had it not meant him running straight to the Death Eaters his former Masters had idolised. Instead, he focused on the loyalty the elf had shown ever since Harry had first shown an interest in helping him fulfil Regulus Black's last request, "No, Kreacher. You've been a very good elf, but you can't follow where I'm going. So, I want you to take care of Teddy for me—I love him very much too, and I can't bring him along either."

Kreacher burst into tears. "Master… _loves_... Kreacher?"

Harry sighed and awkwardly patted the elf on the back, "Yes, Kreacher. So take care of yourself. No getting depressed and staying in this house with only Mrs Black to talk to. Promise?"

"Yes...Master...Kreacher...promises," the house-elf managed to say through his tears.

Having secured the desired promise, Harry stood to leave, glancing back only once as he and Luna gathered their bags and left number twelve, Grimmauld Place for the next phase of their journey.

Three hours later, they found themselves on a plane to Boston, Massachusetts— courtesy of a few forged documents and one Confundus Charm on an overly diligent teller— to join up with the UCSB geophysics expedition onto which they had conned their way.

Harry managed to get Luna settled into her seat, with her seat belt fastened, and get her through the safety demonstration without incident. It probably helped that she spent most of the safety demonstration marvelling at the television screens which displayed the accompanying video, and that she probably didn't understand or care for some of the more technical terms being used. She didn't even react adversely to take-off—unless one counts a comment about barigigglers making her ears pop.

No, the first sign of trouble occurred when the captain came on with his greeting, after take-off, "Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. Good afternoon and welcome aboard British Airways Flight 203 with non-stop service between London Heathrow International Airport and Boston Logan International. We have reached our cruising altitude of 35,000 feet now, so I am going to switch the seat belt sign off. Our flying time is about seven hours. We should be arriving about six o'clock local time."

"What did he mean 35,000 feet? How are we going to breathe?" Luna gripped Harry's arm; she was becoming increasingly agitated.

Harry stifled a laugh. Luna was usually pretty unflappable and he'd never seen her so nervous before. "We'll be fine as long as we stay on the plane," he said, trying to reassure her. "Think of it like a giant Bubblehead Charm."

She did calm down after that—to the point that she fell asleep on Harry's shoulder when the flight crew turned the lights down. Harry, unfortunately, didn't manage to fall asleep and the rest of the flight was uneventful but _long_.

Still, before they knew it they were conning their way through customs in Boston, and catching another seven hour flight to Los Angeles. There they met with the recruiting officer that had been sent to greet them, a grim-looking man with a crew cut who seemed incapable of smiling _. "You the couple of GAs that we're expecting from Boston?" were his only words of greeting._

_"That's us." Harry extended a hand, in an attempt at a friendly greeting._

_The_ recruiting officer _didn't take it, "Nick Parker, Raytheon Polar Services. Follow me. You're the last to arrive."_

_"We caught the earliest open flight," Harry lied, in defence._

Nick ignored Harry's comment, instead choosing to remark, his tone derogatory, "You sound like a couple of Brits."

"We're rather recent immigrants," replied Harry, not deigning to clarify that they had been on US soil less than twenty-four hours and that their immigration status would definitely be considered illegal if anyone dug deep enough. "Haven't lost the accent yet..."

"Humph," was the older man's only response.

The rest of the walk was spent in silence. Finally, they reached a small private bus with the Raytheon Polar Services logo parked outside the airport. Nick climbed aboard and took a seat near the back, walking straight past the bus driver, and not bothering to check that they were still with him.

"Harry Potter and Luna Lovegood, GAs for the Ford Range expedition," said Harry as way of greeting, in response to the bus driver's raised eyebrows and inquisitive look.

"I don't think Nick likes us," whispered Luna.

The bus driver laughed, "Don't let him get to you; he's like that with all the rookies. Go ahead and find yourselves some seats. It's not too long a ride."

After stowing their luggage, Harry sank gratefully into one of the seats, closing his eyes; the strain of fourteen hours of flight, a two hour layover, and an eight hour time zone jump was really beginning to take a toll on him.

Unfortunately, Luna didn't let him rest long. They had just pulled out of the airport parking lot when she poked him and asked, "Harry?"

"What?" he answered, trying to hide his annoyance. Wasn't she tired too? Of course, she'd slept on the plane; he hadn't.

"Shouldn't we be on the other side of the road?" she asked, a little too loudly for Harry's comfort.

Harry shook his head. Holding a finger up to his lips, he whispered back, "No, they do things backwards here in America." Before closing his eyes once more, determined to get some rest.

He'd only had his eyes closed a minute, when he felt her squeeze his hand. "Harry?"

"Yes, Luna?" he answered, without opening his eyes.

"Thanks for bringing me along."

_He did look at her then, and couldn't help but smile back, unable to stay mad at Luna for long._

She patted her shoulder. "Get some sleep, Harry. You can rest your head on me this time."

Unfortunately, the drive from the airport to the Raytheon Polar Services Company's Los Angeles Briefing Centre, which would be their home for the next few weeks, was too short for him to actually fall asleep, but the gesture was appreciated, particularly since Luna didn't find any other ways to annoy him, or blow their cover…

As Harry relaxed into his seat, his head leaning on Luna's shoulder, he hoped the worst of the hassle was over. He was so wrong. The next few weeks were going to be trying…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	13. Chapter 13

"Where did you get that scar on your forehead Mr Potter?"

Harry stared blankly at the stern-looking Muggle, who'd introduced herself as Nurse Stern; what a way to start off his mandatory health screening! It seemed his and Luna's first week at Raytheon Polar Services Company's Los Angeles Briefing Centre was doomed to begin rather inauspiciously—for himself at least…

Taking a calming breath, he answered, "Car accident when I was fifteen months old," falling back easily on the lie the Dursleys had fed him for almost a decade.

"I see," she said, writing down his response, "and was that the only injury you suffered in the accident?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, my mother shielded me with her own body."

"I see," the nurse repeated, "and the scar on your hand?" She pointed to where the words _'I must not tell lies'_ were carved into his right hand, "Do you make a habit of lying?"

Harry rubbed the words unconsciously before doing just that, "When I was fifteen, we had a crazy teacher at my boarding school, who used a branding iron on students as punishment, before threatening us, and swearing us to secrecy, to keep the Headmaster from finding out."

The nurse gasped, both appalled and incredulous. However, despite how disturbing and unbelievable Harry's rendition of events was, she'd heard worse over the course of her thirty-year career in health-care, and her mind failed to come up with a better explanation. Finally, she found her voice, "A teacher did that?"

Harry nodded, but did not repeat himself.

"I hope she didn't get away with it," she continued.

An uneasy silence followed, as Harry let her draw her own—probably erroneous—conclusions.

"I see," she said—again.

Harry was beginning to find her fondness for those two words annoying, but he didn't comment, particularly since she followed them up with a change of subject. The interview seemed to proceed smoothly for a while, after that. It probably helped that Harry had remembered to forge documents attesting that his and Luna's mandatory shots were all up to date, avoiding some difficult questions about missing vaccinations.

Unfortunately, the reprieve from awkward questions was only temporary. After completing her interview, the nurse handed him a hospital gown and asked him to strip down to his pants, while she informed the doctor that he was ready for her. When she returned, she caught sight of the rest of his scars—those that had been hidden by his clothing, and started in on him again. "Where did you get _that_ nasty scar, Mr Potter?" she pointed to the scar in the crook of his right arm, where Wormtail had taken his blood to resurrect Voldemort.

"Knife wound, from a mugging when I was fourteen."

"And this one?" she pointed to the scar left behind by Harry's encounter with a Basilisk.

"Large venomous snake when I was twelve."

"That's quite a big scar; I didn't realise that snakes could grow so big."

"Neither did I, until I met the snake who bit me..."

"And what were you doing in the vicinity of a large venomous snake, at age twelve?"

Harry laughed nervously. _How to explain?_ Finally he settled on, "I was twelve, and an idiot." He was spared having to answer any more questions by the timely arrival of the doctor, a no-nonsense woman who apparently had no time or interest in questions—unless you count, "does it hurt when I press here?" as a question…

The rest of the week, after both Harry and Luna managed to escape the clutches of the medical team with a clean bill of health, passed in a blur of conferences ranging from the history of US involvement in the Antarctic, to modern-day ship and aircraft operations. Harry tried to pay attention, in case some minute detail might be important later, but a lot of the information went over his head and, after a full year without formal lessons, he found concentrating on theory sessions difficult. All the same, he probably retained more than Luna, with regards to Muggle technology, at least.

The first aid training lessons, served as an excellent distraction from the constant lectures—even though Harry found himself intervening on several occasions, to prevent Luna from attempting to use magic instead of Muggle methods. Not that he could really blame her; most of the time he was sorely tempted to do so himself.

In fact, by the second week, after they'd been issued their cold weather gear from the RPSC's stores and had entered into the field training portion of their orientation, he found himself subtly resorting to magic during some of the trials they were exposed to. He might have been slightly more equipped for the challenge than Luna—courtesy of the difficult camping trip, during his yearlong search for Voldemort's Horcruxes—but he'd had easy access to a wand during most of that time. Thus, by the time they'd been finally cleared for the voyage, Harry had been good and ready to move on for what seemed like forever, fed up with the constant challenges thrown their way by the training instructors…

The journey began with a rather anti-climactic commercial flight to Christchurch, New Zealand, in the company of his fellow Raytheon summer season employees, which was only slightly longer than the trip from Britain had been. The only difference seemed to be the need to deflect friendly and well-meaning overtures from future colleagues, without appearing to be rude.

The uneventful flight to Christchurch was followed be a flight on a military aircraft to McMurdo Station, the USA's main base in Antarctica. That flight wasn't quite as smooth… The noise and near constant turbulence, made conversation difficult, and reminded him—inexplicably—of the broom ride that Mad-Eye Moody had lead from Privet Drive to Grimmauld Place the summer before his fifth year.

Finally, at McMurdo Station Harry and Luna said their farewells to most of their group, more than half of which were remaining behind. The rest were continuing on, but not all to the same destination. Some were going to the South Pole Station, others to various temporary summer stations including a handful who were also bound for the Ford Range base in Marie Byrd Land, where Luna and Harry were heading.

At their camp in Marie Byrd land, Harry and Luna soon found themselves melding with the team, despite their reluctance to do so. In such close quarters it was hard to avoid making friends, with everyone from the kitchen staff to the scientists heading the camp: Bruce Luyendyk, Andrea Donnellan, Carol Raymond, and Erik Ivins. The scientists, with the exception of Erik, were surprisingly down-to-earth, and treated everyone with respect, even Harry and Luna, who found themselves at the absolute bottom of the chain of command, in their role as general menial labour.

The pair did, however, have to put up with a bit of teasing for the fact that, between the two of them, they had packed a dozen miniature Siberian husky soft toys. Luna had affectionately named hers Rusty, Beauty, Handsome, Frankie, Thumper, and Sherby and had insisted that Harry's needed names as well. After some cajoling, he agreed to pick some names. That he chose to call his dogs: Lily, James, Sirius, Remus, Ron, and Hermione, was fairly indicative of his state of mind.

When one of the cooks had asked why they'd packed so many stuffed toys, Harry had refused to answer. Luna, on the other hand, had answered without hesitation, "We had to bring them because _real_ cold-weather dogs are not allowed, in Antarctica! Which I suppose makes sense, since we don't want them attacking the Crumple-horned seals—they're an endangered species, you know—but it is still rather frustrating."

The cook had given her a puzzled look after that and decided against asking any other questions, seeing as the first answer had just left him more confused.

Harry and Luna ended up spending two weeks at the Ford Range Base, getting a feel for the lay of the land, and the operation of the over-snow vehicles, before one morning mid-November they abandoned camp, while the rest of the team slept off the effects of a sleeping draught slipped into their evening hot cocoa. They took with them a stolen snowmobile, sled, pyramid tent and a month's worth of food and supplies and left behind a very large wad of cash, converted to American dollars—the unspent balance of the Potter, Black, and Lovegood fortunes, after having left behind a sizable portion for both Teddy Lupin and Molly Weasley—along with a brief note:

_Our apologies for leaving you short-staffed and for the theft of equipment and supplies. We hope this more than adequately compensates you for the inconvenience._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry Potter & Luna Lovegood_

While they felt guilty about the theft, particularly after the period of getting to know their colleagues, they could think of no other way to safely reach their destination—even with magic on their side. Even with the combination of the stolen supplies _and_ magic, there was no guarantee that they would succeed…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bruce Luyendyk, Andrea Donnellan, Carol Raymond, and Erik Ivin are real scientists and really did work with GPS in the Ford Ranges in 1998. Anything else I said about them was creative licence.
> 
> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would like to dedicate this chapter and the next to the dearly departed Rusty, Beauty, Handsome, Frankie, Thumper, and Sherby

"Watch out!" Luna yelled.

Harry slammed on the brakes just in time. That was the tenth precipice the snowmobile had almost toppled off of since they'd started their day. He pulled into reverse, and then, after coming to a stop, switched seats with Luna. He sighed, longing for the early days of their journey—before the blizzard.

They'd originally made pretty good time towards the co-ordinates where they believed Merlin's Ring to be hidden. However, as the days passed, and the closer they'd found themselves to their destination, the worse the weather had become. After the first three days of progressively increasingly foul weather, Luna had attributed the phenomenon to the weather magic of Native American shamans. Harry, though he knew next to nothing about Native American shamans, had been inclined to agree.

By the seventh day, he definitely agreed. The weather outside had deteriorated to the point of a whiteout, the falling and blowing snow appearing to merge with the wholly white landscape until the horizon had disappeared completely. It was impossible to make out surface irregularities in the snow, or see where they were going, so they'd made the decision to lay up for a few days. Unfortunately, after several days without any change, it had become clear that the weather would not be improving any time soon, and they'd been forced to persevere—despite the dangers—for fear that they would run out of supplies before they reached their destination.

That had been a week ago. The pair had been travelling through unbroken, colourless landscape, over mountainous terrain, for days now, and the weather still showed no signs of clearing up. Harry had lost track of the number of times they'd narrowly avoided critical accidents with the vehicle, through a mixture of magic and luck. They'd had to keep their use of spells to a minimum, for fear of damaging the sensitive Muggle electronics that they were counting on for their survival—particularly the portable GPS which insured that they continued to progress in the right direction. But, they'd be long dead—or at least trapped in an ice fissure somewhere, which would amount to the same thing—if they'd had to do without their wands completely.

Unfortunately, neither could do anything about the fact that, approximately five miles out from their destination, their snowmobile abruptly stopped running and their portable GPS stopped working, most likely as a result of the Muggle-repelling wards protecting the Ring. Although they had anticipated the break-down, it would take time to put their contingency plan into place. So, they'd set up camp for the night—despite it being mid-morning—to give themselves time to regroup.

After setting up their stolen pyramid tent, Harry and Luna crawled in, grateful for the brief reprieve from the weather. Harry began the process of sorting through their supplies, discarding any and all Muggle equipment that had stopped working, in order to lighten their load. Luna unpacked their Siberian husky soft toys, and set about the task of transfiguring them into life-sized sleigh-dogs.

Unsurprisingly, the weather hadn't improved any when the pair set off the next morning and, although the transfigured dogs had the advantage of not requiring food or water as normal dogs would have, they _did_ require near constant coaxing in order to move forward.

Harry's initial attempts to spur them into action were decidedly unsuccessful, so Luna took over the job of convincing the dogs to pull the loaded, though magically lightened, sleigh, "Now, Rusty! Now, Frankie! Now, Handsome and Beauty! On, Thumper! On Sherby! On, James and Lily! Now, Sirius! Now, Remus! Now, Ron and Hermione!"

Her methods were far more successful, but Harry found himself laughing inside at her choice of wording. By the third repetition, he couldn't help the laughter leaking out, as well as the comment, "Too bad we seem to have forgotten Rudolph."

Luna pulled the sleigh to a halt and regarded him, quizzically.

"The red-nosed reindeer," Harry clarified.

This time she raised an eyebrow, "I've never heard of red-nosed reindeer."

Harry laughed again. It was hard to believe that he might have stumbled on the one fictional creature that Luna _wasn't_ familiar with. "Sorry, Muggle children's story; Rudolph's nose glowed bright red, and Father Christmas used the light he gave off to guide his sleigh on a foggy Christmas Eve. Dudley used to watch the movie on the telly every Christmas," he explained, "It's just that the way you were urging the dogs on, it reminded me of Father Christmas directing his flying reindeer in the 'Night Before Christmas'—another Christmas story."

"That's a great idea, Harry!" Luna exclaimed, "We can give all the dogs glowing noses! Here, you hold the reins; I know just the spell." She handed the reins to him and jumped off the sleigh, before he could object.

Sure enough, when she hopped back on, each of the twelve dogs had brightly shining red noses. Granted, the red-nosed sleigh dogs didn't make much of a difference with regards to visibility—aside from changing the colour of the snow—but the smile on Luna's face, as she took the reins once more, made the change worthwhile in Harry's eyes.

Progress continued to be slow. Frequent use of the Four-Point Spell assured the pair that they were still heading in the direction they had been before their equipment failure, but they had no way of gauging their progress. They could only hope that poor visibility didn't cause them to overshoot their target.

They needn't have worried, however. About a mile from their target, the weather cleared abruptly—like stepping into the eye of a storm—and Harry caught sight of a tiny golden glow in the distance.

The Headmaster had been right. Although they approached cautiously, they encountered no defences; _nothing_ impeded their progress. Finally, Luna pulled the sleigh to a stop at the foot of a stone pedestal, on which stood a fifteen-foot golden ring. Close-up, Merlin's Ring—for that's what it must be—was even more impressive than it had appeared in the distance.

As Harry stepped out of the sleigh and onto the stone pedestal, he found himself caught within a field of golden tinted light being emitted by the Ring, staring, mesmerized and unable to turn away. Time lost all meaning.

"I think she likes us." Luna's statement snapped him out of his state of rapture, and Harry was left with the feeling that he'd just been studied, judged and found worthy, all his doubts about their quest simply fading away.

Seeing Luna's dreamy smile pleased Harry, too. He could not help but notice how low in spirit she had been in recent days. Now that her good humour was back in full force, he realised the sensation of his having been approved by the Ring's enchantment had not been imagination: it had clearly affected her too. He grinned at her affectionately. He loved that she had her own way of saying what he, himself, was feeling. It was clear that the experience had been unique and personalized.

Finding Merlin's Ring had been the goal that had kept him going these past months, particularly the last few weeks as they had battled terrible weather. Now that they had found it, Harry couldn't quite bring himself to step through it—not just yet. So, rather than jumping straight into the ritual detailed in Merlin's journals, Harry found himself erring on the side of caution, setting up a final camp a few hundred yards from the base of the Ring.

He spent most of the evening going over his plans one more time, but was unable to convince Luna to do the same. She insisted on using the time to attempt to decipher the ancient runes which covered the Ring, instead, though given the size of the Ring and the number of runes, she could never finish in such little time.

The next morning, after a night of fitful sleep, Harry finally gathered the courage to begin the Ritual of Merlin's Choice. Standing before the Ring, he donned his Invisibility Cloak, and, holding the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone in his right hand, bid Luna take his left. After a deep breath he uttered the words that he had memorised, "O sanctus et sacra orbis ignis, præcipio tibi da mihi locum olim, ut partum a novus orbis in meditatione mea et nobilis, nobile, et secundum voluntatem tuam, ut de novo incipere a principio novum historia," As he did so, he pictured clearly in his mind his desired destination in time and space, with the desire that his companion and Death's gifts— the Deathly Hallows —might follow him through to his destination.

The moment he completed the chant, flames shot out from the Ring, engulfing them both where they stood, yet burning harmlessly around them. Finally, the flames cleared, and Harry found himself staring at what looked like a vertical puddle of fire, burning within the Ring.

By unspoken agreement, the two travellers advanced together towards the fiery pool, before stepping through the Ring itself…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	15. Chapter 15

Harry felt like he was being both torn apart and burned alive.

The journey through Merlin's Ring could not have lasted more than a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity before he and Luna finally stumbled out the other end of the vortex, into the Room of Hidden Things at Hogwarts, on what Harry presumed to be October 31st, 1981. He turned for one last glance at the vortex that had spit them out, but it had already disappeared.

"Well, that was interesting!" exclaimed Luna, "Do you think the Ring was powered by heliopaths?" Harry didn't think heliopaths had anything to do with it, but his skin did feel raw and painful all over, as though he'd just bathed in scalding water.

He glanced down at his hands, concerned, but they weren't actually red, despite how they felt. Next, he turned to his companion, taking in her appearance. She was naked as the day she was born, but she too didn't seem to be burned. She also didn't seem to be at all perturbed by the fact that the layers upon layers of cold weather garments she'd been wearing in Antarctica had disappeared—or perhaps burned up—at some point in transit. As for Harry, his own clothes hadn't fared any better, making him incredibly grateful that he'd opted to wear the Invisibility Cloak and that it—along with the Elder Wand and Resurrection Stone—had survived the journey.

"I'm going to try to find myself some clothes," he said, averting his gaze from his travelling companion's nudity.

Once he'd put enough distance between himself and Luna, so as to not be able to inadvertently catch sight of her bare body—he _really_ didn't want to think about Luna naked—Harry cast a general Summoning Charm, to locate some clothes in the maze that was the Room of Hidden Things. Quite a few items responded to his _Accio_ , and he managed to piece together a half-way decent outfit for himself and, while he was at it, set aside a few items for Luna, in case she still wasn't dressed when he got back.

She wasn't. However, the fact that she was still completely naked might not have been entirely her fault. She probably hadn't been able to locate any clothes in a timely manner—assuming that she'd looked—without her wand, which had _not_ survived the trip. So, Harry stifled his sigh of exasperation and, instead of asking whether she was planning to get dressed anytime soon, thrust the pile of clothes he'd collected in her general direction and said, "Here, I found you some clothes."

She took them from him but, rather than peruse them immediately said, "Oh, but it's such a relief to be finally free after all that heavy clothing! Why do I have to get dressed right away? It's not like I can come with you to—" she paused, searching her mind for the location in question before giving up, "—wherever it is that your family is hiding. I might as well wait for you here."

This time Harry did sigh. "You can't just lie around naked, Luna. You're supposed to meet my parents in the Shrieking Shack to explain things, since I probably won't have time to." When she still made no move to get dressed, he added, "If you hurry up I can take you under the Cloak; the Shack is as good a place as any for me to Apparate from."

"Fine," she answered, pouting—or rather, Harry suspected that she was pouting, based on her tone of voice. He steadfastly refused to look her way, until she was fully clothed, even as he heard her begin to riffle through the pile of clothes that he'd handed her.

Once he was sure that she was actually getting dressed, Harry wandered off to give her some privacy—not that she seemed to need it—and to try Summoning a wand for her. None came flying. Apparently, no one had been foolish enough to leave a wand in the Room of Requirement. Then again, he would have been surprised if someone had.

When he returned empty-handed a few minutes later, Luna was fully clothed and had somehow managed to recreate her usual eccentric style of dress from the small assortment of available garments. She didn't seem overly disappointed by his inability to find her a wand. Instead of complaining, she gracefully accepted his apology, before joining him under the Invisibility Cloak, without further argument.

When they reached the Shrieking Shack at the outskirts of Hogsmeade, Harry found himself hesitating. He broke the silence, "I guess this is it... wish me luck?"

Luna smiled at him encouragingly, "Good luck, Harry."

Harry nodded his thanks, and then gathering up his courage, Apparated to the road just outside number 5 Cherry Road. He took a moment to take in the sight of his family home—standing once more but hidden from all but a select few—before approaching. There was no mistaking the exact moment he crossed the ancient blood wards at the edge of the property, but even seventeen years out of time they recognized and let him through.

At the threshold, he hesitated, once more. Though he had imagined this scenario hundreds of times, and imagined dozens of ways the present scene might unfold, he now found himself frozen in indecision, his plans forgotten. Should he enter with his Cloak on or off? Should he attempt to explain himself right away, or Stun his parents first, then explain? Should he explain at all, or simply send them to Luna, via Portkey, despite the fact that it would destroy the wards? Should he not even approach his parents and instead lie in wake for Voldemort and attack the dark wizard before he engaged his father in a wand fight?

Finally, his mind made up, Harry cast a non-verbal _Alohomora_ and slipped quietly through the front door. He watched in silence, for a moment, as his family enjoyed what seemed to be a quiet evening in the living room. Lily sat in a deep couch by the fire, knitting what looked to be a scarf to Harry's untrained eyes. James sat across from her with a book in his lap watching fifteen-month-old Harry, who sat on the floor between them, playing with an assortment of colour-changing multicoloured blocks.

The longer Harry stood watching, the more he felt like a spy—an intruder in his own home. Finally, unable to take the tension any longer, he pulled off his Invisibility Cloak and cleared his throat, to get his parents' attention. The results were nearly instantaneous. Within seconds of noticing him, both adults had their wands drawn and pointed his way.

Harry dropped his wand and threw up his empty hands in surrender. Sensing the nervous tension in the air, he took a deep breath, and exhaled, preparing to explain. "I mean you no harm," he began, "I came to warn you. Voldemort—" A silent Stunner caught him by surprise mid-sentence.

When he came to again and found himself magically bound to a chair, Harry attempted, unsuccessfully, to quash the panic that was slowly rising in him. _Why hadn't his parents let him explain before tying him up?_ He'd expected them to at least hear him out. _How long had he been unconscious? How long did he have before Voldemort showed up? Would things have worked out better if he'd followed Luna's plan, instead of acting on a whim?_

Lily and baby Harry were nowhere in sight but his father stood before him, wand drawn. "Who are you?" James asked, his voice hard, "How did you get through our wards?"

Harry, still in a state of panic, ignored the question, "Please, you have to let me go. Voldemort might be here any minute. It's not safe."

"Who are you?" repeated James, more forcefully than before, "How did you get through our wards?"

Taking a few calming breaths, Harry attempted to answer. After his first three false starts, he settled for, "You won't believe me if I tell you."

"Who are you?" James demanded.

Harry took another deep breath and braced himself for the inevitable outburst, "My name is Harry James Potter."

The sputtering rage with which his father reacted did not disappoint. He didn't curse Harry, but definitely looked ready to do so.

"Please, just let me explain," Harry continued, "I know that I have no way to prove it, but hear me out. I just walked through the Fidelius Charm _and_ the ancient Potter blood wards without raising an alarm. I have my mother's eyes, and my father's hair and nose, and I arrived in Ignotus Peverell's Cloak of Invisibility, which has been passed down through my father's family—your family—for generations."

"My son is fifteen months old. You are _not_ my son. I don't know how you stole my cloak from Dumbledore, or tricked the blood wards, or what you did to Peter to get him to reveal our secret, but you _will_ tell me!" James yelled.

"Please," Harry pleaded, "Voldemort knows your location, and is going to attack here tonight. I travelled back through time in order to warn you; to evacuate you to safety while I take care of him."

"A likely story."

Harry sighed. Somehow in all his considerations he'd overlooked this possibility. Why had he thought that his parents would welcome him with open arms? Luna had warned him that they probably wouldn't.

"Please," he tried again, "I don't want you to die. I came here to prevent you from dying and leaving baby Harry an orphan to be raised miserable and abused by Vernon and Petunia Dursley and being turned into a martyr by Dumbledore." Harry was vaguely aware that he was babbling, but his mention of the Dursleys seemed to have gotten James' attention, so he continued, "I'm the only one that stands a chance of vanquishing him. _Please, Dad_."

He took it as a good sign that James didn't immediately start yelling at him again, but as the silence following his statement grew, Harry found himself attempting to wandlessly free himself of his bindings—both magical and physical. The odds of him escaping his bonds and overpowering his father were decidedly low, however—particularly with James' wand trained on him. He also still hadn't seen or heard Lily, since she'd Stunned him. Was she hidden just out of sight, ready to assist James, or had she retreated to the relative safety of the upstairs floor with baby Harry?

James had yet to make up his mind when his eyes suddenly widened in disbelief; both he and Harry felt the moment Voldemort began tearing down the outer wards.

"It's him!" said Harry, "We're out of time! Untie me, and get your wife and son out of here, before we all die!"

James appeared to hesitate for a moment more, his mouth gaping in shock, but he _did_ free Harry.

The younger wizard ignored the mutter of, "I can't believe that I'm trusting you," as he reclaimed his wand and quickly pulled the Invisibility Cloak back on.

"Go! Run!" Harry repeated. When James still seemed in no hurry to flee, he added, "Get yourselves to the Shrieking Shack. I'll meet you there," hoping that he'd be able to keep his word. So much had gone wrong already that he was no longer sure if he'd be leaving Godric's Hollow alive. Thank goodness Luna had stayed behind; she'd be able to warn the Headmaster about Voldemort's Horcruxes if he didn't make it back.

James disappeared up the stairs, just as Voldemort blasted his way through the front door. The Dark Lord paused to cast a detection charm, and locating the home's three known inhabitants on the second floor, headed towards the stairs. He didn't notice Harry—hidden from more than just sight by Ignotus Peverell's Cloak of Invisibility—even as the younger wizard snuck up behind him, wielding the Elder Wand.

Harry opened his mouth to incant the Killing Curse, " _Ava—_ _"_

Voldemort spun around in surprise—much quicker than Harry had anticipated—and blasted a silent curse in his general direction, before Harry could utter more than the first syllable.

Harry threw himself to the ground—just in time—as a flash of sickly yellow light zoomed through the space he'd previously occupied. Fragments of wood and upholstery went flying as the curse shattered the armchair James had been sitting in earlier that evening.

" _Avada Kedavra!_ " Harry tried again, rolling right to avoid another curse from Voldemort.

This time the flash of green light hit the dark wizard square in the chest, and he crumpled to a heap on the parlour floor, a look of astonishment on his face.

Harry stared in disbelief—and relief. Relief that he'd not been hit, disbelief at his success… While he'd been on the receiving end of more than his share of Killing Curses, it was the first time he'd actually cast one himself. Could it really be that simple? Was he really the first person to actually hit Voldemort with a Killing Curse?

The relief lasted only a minute. He knew that it was an empty victory. Five sixths of Voldemort's soul still needed to be hunted down and destroyed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there you have it, the first chapter in the past. Please let me know what you think.
> 
> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	16. Chapter 16

_rack!_

Harry was startled out of his contemplation by the sound of someone Apparating onto the lawn of his family home. Moments later, a dark-haired wizard burst into the parlour, wand raised.

The wizard stopped short at the sight of Voldemort's dead body in the middle of the floor. Then, catching sight of Harry, he launched himself at the younger wizard and enveloped him in a massive hug that could have given Hagrid a run for his money. "James! When Peter wasn't home and I could suddenly remember your address, I realized at once that the Fidelius must have collapsed. I came as quickly as I could! Are Lily and Harry...?"

"Sirius," wheezed Harry, "can't breathe."

"Oh!" Sirius released Harry, and stepped back. Catching his first true look at Harry, he took another step back, startled, "You're not James!"

"No, I'm not," agreed Harry, "But James is fine, and Lily, and Harry. I sent them to hide in the Shrieking Shack while I took care of..." he gestured to the corpse.

Sirius nodded in relief, but then his grin faded abruptly, and his expression turned suspicious, "Who are you?"

Harry groaned, "Oh please, not you too!"

Sirius gave him a curious look, but did not respond.

"Would you believe me if I told you that I'm baby Harry all grown up?" asked Harry, hopefully, "You _did_ just mistake me for my father..."

Sirius took a hard look at the wizard before him, logic warring against what his instincts were screaming, "Harry?"

Harry let out the breath he hadn't known he was holding, and sighed in relief, grateful that not everyone in 1981 was as suspicious as his parents, "Yes."

"But—but—how?" stuttered Sirius.

"That," answered Harry, "is a long story and I'd rather tell it only once. Go find Remus—he needs to hear this too— and meet me at the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts."

Sirius, his mouth still gaping in disbelief, didn't move.

"Please," Harry prompted, "I promise, I'll explain everything, once everyone is together."

Finally, despite a great show of reluctance, Sirius Apparated away.

Harry found himself alone once more—except for Voldemort's corpse. He hesitated for a moment, then reached down and placed a shaking hand on the dead wizard. Concentrating, he Apparated them both to the Shrieking Shack, arriving just in time to hear James ask Luna, "So, are you 'Harry's' girlfriend?"

Harry spent a moment wondering how exactly Luna had succeeded in engaging his parents in friendly conversation—instead of winding up tied to a chair like he had—before registering the sarcasm in James' voice and realizing that she _was_ tied to a chair and had both James' and Lily's wands pointed in her direction.

His parents looked jumpy and unsure of themselves; Luna sported her usual dreamy expression and didn't seem at all distressed.

"Oh good, you're back, Harry!" Luna cheerfully interrupted his train of thought, "And you've only got one body this time!"

Harry nodded, his expression grim, "One enemy, instead of two more friends to mourn..."

Luna smiled, "They'd be glad—a battle where only the enemy dies is a double victory."

"We're not done yet," answered Harry, "there's still so much to do…"

"Spoilsport!" said Luna pouted briefly, then abruptly changed the subject, "Do you think you could convince your parents to untie me? I'm starting to lose feeling in my fingers and toes."

Harry shook his head and drew her attention to Lily's wand, which though trembling was now pointed his way; James' wand was still directed at Luna. "I don't think they trust me enough to do anything I say."

"Even though you just killed Voldemort?" she asked.

"Apparently, or they wouldn't still be pointing wands at us." Neither wand wavered.

Harry turned slowly towards James, raising his hands in surrender—again. While he was pleasantly surprised that they hadn't cursed him yet, despite having had ample time while he and Luna had been talking, he wasn't taking any chances. "I thought we covered all this back at the house, before you untied me," he addressed James, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice, "Don't you think that, if I meant you harm, I would have attacked you then? Or—better yet—I would have avoided getting tied up at all, by taking you both out, _before_ removing my Cloak?"

"Possibly," James conceded. His wand wavered, but he didn't lower it. Neither did Lily. "But then again, this could all be part of some elaborate trap… Dumbledore warned us that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has an unhealthy interest in our family."

"What kind of trap involves killing Voldemort and bringing you his corpse?"

"How do we know that's really You-Know-Who? Or that he's really dead?" asked Lily, unsure what to believe.

Harry groaned in frustration—the pair of them were worse than Mad-Eye Moody…

Luna, fortunately, wasn't quite so easily discouraged. After a moment of contemplation, she asked, "Do you think Veritaserum would convince you?" her expression pensive.

"And where do you propose to get Veritaserum?" asked James.

"At Hogwarts, of course," she answered, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world, "The Headmaster is bound to have some, and we need to talk to him anyways."

Harry was quick to agree, "Sirius and Remus are meeting us at the Headmaster's office."

"Why are you meeting Sirius and Remus?" demanded James, his voice edged with suspicion once more, "You trying to brainwash them too?"

Harry sighed. "I ran in to Sirius at the house before I left. He's not half as distrustful as you, and promised to go get Remus. There was no brainwashing involved."

"And I suppose you expect us to just lead you through the Hogwarts wards—into Dumbledore's stronghold?" asked Lily.

"Would it help if I let you tie me up and take away my wand?" Harry offered, struggling to control his growing frustration. _This wasn't how things were supposed to be! His parents were supposed to love him, no matter what, not hold him at wand point._

A small nod from Lily was the only warning Harry got before his arms were magically wrenched roughly behind his back, and his wrists tightly bound. Her next spell drew his ankles suddenly together and he found himself toppling over, with no way to catch his fall. Were it not for a third spell arresting his downward momentum, he would most likely have landed flat on his face.

"How am I supposed to walk with my legs tied together?" he complained, struggling to right himself.

"You don't need to walk," answered Lily, as she dug around methodically in his pockets for his wand, her expression carefully blank.

She was so agonisingly close that Harry could smell her, the scent calling up subconscious memories of unconditional love, comfort and protection. A wave of emotion flooded him—he wanted so badly to hug her, for her to hold him in her arms—but bound as he was he had no way to act on the impulse. If she noticed the silent tear that fell down his right cheek, as she located his wand and placed it in her pocket, she gave no indication of it.

Stepping back, she used her own wand to cast _Mobilicorpus_ on both time travellers, and on Voldemort's dead body. Finally, she directed all three towards the entrance of the tunnel to Hogwarts. James followed in silence, pausing briefly to collect a sleeping baby Harry from the cot his mother had conjured for him.

Fortunately, there weren't any students up and about at such a late hour, so although they caught the attention of a number of portraits, the unlikely procession avoided running into anyone on their way through the castle. They stopped short upon reaching the seventh-floor entrance to the headmaster's office; none of them knew the password.

Harry was all set to start guessing Halloween treats, but Luna cut him off. "We've got urgent business with the headmaster, Gus," she addressed the office's guardian gargoyle, "Could you let him know?"

"Gus?" asked Harry in confusion, but Luna didn't answer.

A moment later, the gargoyle leapt aside, and Lily wasted no time directing her prisoners up the stairs. From his vantage point hovering a few steps behind Voldemort, Harry had the rare pleasure of seeing the headmaster look momentarily shocked. However, by the time Lily deposited her prisoners and the rest of the group had made it up the stairs and into the office, Dumbledore had regained his composure. The older wizard's eyes were twinkling once more as he greeted James and Lily, offering them each a lemon sherbet and a seat, but ignoring the bound forms of Harry and Luna.

When no explanation of their identity was forthcoming, after several minutes, he finally asked, "What brings you out of hiding and to Hogwarts tonight? And how did you come upon your prisoners? The unconscious one looks remarkably like Voldemort, and this other one bears you an uncanny resemblance, James," he indicated Harry.

"He just showed up at Godric's Hollow claiming—" James began to explain, but Harry cut him off, "The _dead_ body looks like Voldemort, because it _is_ Voldemort—or one sixth of him anyways," he explained, "and I look like James because he's my father, a fact that I can't seem to convince him of."

"I see," Dumbledore regarded Harry intently and the young wizard allowed the headmaster to meet his eyes. He didn't resist as he felt the Legilimens begin to skim through his thoughts, subtly at first, then more intensely as he sensed Harry's willingness.

Finally, seemingly satisfied by what he'd found, Dumbledore withdrew from Harry's mind. "I do believe the situation warrants a more in depth explanation," he said, his eyes twinkling once more, "I'm quite intrigued."

Harry nodded. "I've already promised my parents that I'd explain everything under the effects of a truth serum, but," he hesitated, "I'd prefer to not having to repeat myself. Do you think we can wait until the others get here?"

"Others?" asked Dumbledore, "Who else did you invite?"

"Just Sirius and Remus."

The Headmaster nodded, "I see no harm in waiting for them, though perhaps you'd like to sit down too while we wait; you're the only one still standing."

"Thank you, Headmaster," Harry sunk gratefully into the armchair that had materialised behind him. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to untie me…" he asked, as he struggled to find a comfortable position that accommodated his bindings.

"Alas, Mr Potter—it is Mr Potter, is it not?"

Harry nodded, "Harry Potter, sir."

"Well, Mr Potter, despite the fascinating memories you shared with me just now, I do think I would prefer that you remain bound for the moment. Just until we've gotten everything cleared up? The mind is a tricky landscape, capable of misdirection, and one must be cautious in these difficult times."

Harry sighed and thought it ironic to hear this from a wizard that would one day hire Quirrell, Lockhart, and Crouch Junior disguised as Mad-eye Moody to teach schoolchildren.

"That's not to say that I'm disinclined to make you more comfortable, while we wait."

He pointed his wand at Harry causing the ropes binding his wrists to shift so that they were bound to the chair instead of behind his back.

"And perhaps, while we wait, one of you would be so kind as to introduce the quiet young lady tied to the other chair."

"Luna Lovegood, sir," Luna spoke up, "It's good to see you alive and well again, Headmaster."

"Lovegood..." pondered Dumbledore, stroking his beard as he did so, "You wouldn't happen to be a relation of Xenophilius Lovegood , would you dear?"

"He was—is—my father," Luna replied, stumbling over her verb tenses.

"You came with Mr Potter?" asked the Headmaster.

"Yes, sir," she replied.

"And where did you both come from?" he asked.

"We came through Merlin's Ring," she answered.

Dumbledore's eyebrows rose abruptly, "Truly? But it's regarded as only a myth…" he shook his head in disbelief, "I'm quite sure that there's a fair bit more to that story…" He appeared to hesitate for a moment, but seemed to decide against asking anything further just yet.

Instead, the group fell into an awkward silence, which fortunately didn't last long. After only a minute, it was broken by the sound of shouting coming from the bottom of the spiral staircase, "Let me by you stone buffoon, the Headmaster's expecting me."

Harry recognized Sirius's voice but before he could comment, the yelling was replaced by two sets of footsteps coming up the stairs.

It was time to tell his story…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	17. Chapter 17

"Sirius! Remus! You made it!" Harry exclaimed in relief, breaking into a wide grin as he caught sight of first his godfather, then Remus crowding into Dumbledore's office to join his parents. "No side-trips then, Sirius?"

"Huh? What?" asked Sirius, sounding puzzled, "Side-trips?"

Harry's smile widened—was it possible that it hadn't even occurred to Sirius to foolishly take off after Wormtail on his own? He opened his mouth to explain, but Sirius cut him off, "Wait a minute! Why are you tied up?" as his mind finally registered the scene before him.

Harry sighed, his frustration at the current situation leaking through, "Apparently, you're too trusting, Sirius," he explained, "My parents want to dose me with Veritaserum; the Headmaster agrees…"

"Truth serum!" Sirius exclaimed, all questions about side-trips forgotten. "What do they need truth serum for?"

"To ascertain the truth of Mr Potter and Miss Lovegood's tale, of course" responded Dumbledore, "If you and Remus would take a seat, we can get started."

Sirius looked ready to continue arguing—it made Harry smile to know that _somebody_ was on his side, though it raised questions as to why his godfather was so vehemently opposed to the idea—but Remus placed a calming hand on his shoulder. "Enough, Sirius. The Headmaster has a point. If you're right and he's telling the truth, Veritaserum will confirm it; if he isn't…"

Sirius continued to grumble—something about invasion of privacy—but he _did_ sit down.

Dumbledore ignored the grumblings and smiled benevolently, his eyes twinkling, as he turned his attention back to Harry, "Are you ready, Mr Potter?"

Harry gulped nervously, twisting around one last time to meet his parents' eyes—hoping for some indication that they'd changed their minds and decided to believe him; he didn't find what he was looking for.

Instead, an uncomfortable feeling settled in his gut. His mind made up, he turned back to the Headmaster, and nodded. If taking Veritaserum was what it took to gain his parents' trust, he was willing to do so.

Dumbledore pulled a vial of clear liquid from the top drawer of his desk and approached Harry. Steeling himself, the young wizard opened his mouth, without being asked, and allowed three drops of the potion to be placed on his tongue.

It began to work within a few seconds. The potion lacked the subtlety of the Imperious Curse, but, unlike _Imperio_ , Harry found himself unable to resist its effects. He was only vaguely aware of the Headmaster warning the others against interrupting the interrogation, too busy dealing with an overwhelming compulsion to be completely and immediately honest about _everything_.

As long as no one asked any questions, he could just barely control the urge. But, the moment Dumbledore asked him for his name, the answers began spilled forth without any conscious thought.

His mind barely registered Lily's gasp of surprise—or was it disbelief at his response? He was too busy answering the next question.

And so it continued—question after question, with no time for Harry to think. They were simple questions though—chosen to quickly ascertain that Harry was who he claimed to be and not an agent of the Dark Lord. And really, the whole interrogation could not have lasted more than five minutes. Still, Harry was relieved when it was finally over, the Headmaster fell silent, and the bonds on his ankles and wrists dissolved.

Apparently, so was Luna, "Oh thank you! That's much better, Headmaster!" she exclaimed. "Can I have a sherbet lemon now that my hands are free? I really like the Cheering Potion you usually mix into them."

Harry didn't get a chance to hear Dumbledore's response; in the next moment, he found himself overcome by a mind-splitting headache, as everyone else took the Headmaster's silence as licence to begin asking questions. They spoke all at once, at a rate far too fast for him to respond coherently—though he did try, "I—He—It—No—We—When—"

"Can't you see you're hurting him!" Luna's voice pierced through the overwhelming melee of questions.

 _Silence._ The questions stopped just as abruptly as they had begun.

As his headache faded, Harry opened his eyes—which he couldn't actually remember closing—and took in the scene before him. The baby was still sleeping—how he didn't know—but everyone else was sitting on the edge of their seats. They were silent, but it was quite obvious that they still had many questions that they wanted to ask.

The tension of the unanswered questions was palpable. Finally, the Headmaster spoke up, breaking the uneasy silence, "I did warn you all that the effects of Veritaserum would compel our young guest to answer all questions thoroughly and immediately. Inability to comply is quite painful, as you just saw." His eyes twinkled as he added, "Perhaps it would be best if we let him tell his tale at his own pace."

Reaching back into his desk drawer, he pulled out a second vial, this one containing a murky yellow potion, which he handed to Harry. "The antidote," he explained, "It's a single-dose vial."

Harry accepted it gratefully, and downed the entire vial in one gulp, sighing in relief as he felt the Veritaserum's compulsion fade almost immediately. "Thank you, Headmaster," he glanced back at his parents, taking in the mixed emotions reflected on their faces—at least they were no longer hostile. "So how far back do I need to start?" he asked, "Has everyone here heard the 'prophecy'?"

Harry wasn't particularly surprised when Dumbledore shook his head in response. "Heard of the 'prophecy'?" he tried again.

This time Harry felt a surge of irritation, when the Headmaster once more responded in the negative. "Not even Lily and James?" he asked.

When Dumbledore shook his head a third time, Harry felt not just a surge of irritation, but one of anger as well. "You didn't even tell my parents why Voldemort was after us?" he accused, struggling to control his temper, "What _did_ you tell them?"

"Only that your family had been targeted by Voldemort and that it was crucial to the war effort that they remain in hiding." If Harry had been hoping for an apology, he didn't get one. "That was all they needed to know."

"I see..." said Harry, his voice hard. It took a moment before he could calm himself enough to continue, "Well then, I suppose that's where this story begins...Would you like to tell them, or shall I?"

When Dumbledore didn't volunteer any information, Harry continued, "A year ago, Professor Dumbledore heard what he believed to be a prophecy," he began. Ignoring the Headmaster's reaction to his choice of words, he launched into first a recitation of Trelawney's 'prophecy', then an explanation of why he thought it was a self-fulfilling load of dung.

He'd then followed up with a few highlights about his childhood—Lily had objected quite vehemently when she'd heard that he'd lived with the Dursleys, which had led to Sirius asking where he'd been and why he hadn't taken his godson in himself. The older wizard had barked in disbelief when Harry had explained that he'd been in Azkaban, sobering only after Harry explained _why_ , bringing to light the full extent of Wormtail's treachery.

Harry's abbreviated account of his Hogwarts years had similarly met with much consternation. But since neither his childhood nor his Hogwarts years were the focus of his tale, he refused to answer any but a couple of questions about them. Instead, he focused on recounting his hunt for Voldemort's Horcruxes, the final battle—particularly the death toll—and his reasons for invoking the Ritual of Merlin's Choice, skimming over most of their journey.

By the end of Harry's tale the Headmaster's expression was carefully blank and his eyes had stopped twinkling. The others—except Luna who had heard nearly of it all once before, and lived through the rest—mostly looked shocked and overwhelmed, with elements of confusion, sadness, disbelief, and horror. They'd need some time to assimilate what they'd just been told.

Tonight was not the time to start planning an assault on Voldemort's Horcruxes much as Harry might like to. So, when Lily suggested that they all get some rest and continue their discussion the next day, Harry didn't object. Nor did he complain as first Remus, then Sirius left through the Floo, though he desperately wanted to catch up with them both.

James had looked ready to head through the Floo as well, but Lily had lingered, approaching Harry hesitantly, as though unsure if she still had a right to, "So where are you staying tonight?" she asked.

"I don't know," answered Harry, honestly. He and Luna hadn't really talked about accommodations when planning their trip; he'd sort of assumed that they'd stay with the Potters. But that was before they'd stunned him, tied him up, interrogated him but refused to believe a word he said, held him at wand point—again, refused to believe a word he said—again, tied him up—again, levitated him around like a sack of potatoes, and then finally dosed him with truth serum…

So, instead of voicing his secret wish, he found himself responding, "We'll probably head on back to the Shrieking Shack. It should clean up well enough, without too much effort. If not, there's always the Room of Requirement."

Lily shook her head, surprisingly vehement in her objection, "No son of mine is squatting overnight in a rundown haunted shack. The two of you can stay with us."

"You do know it's not really haunted right?" cut in James.

"Haunted or not, it's still a dump! I really must insist."

"We wouldn't want to impose," said Harry, his fear of rejection making him suddenly wary of the offer.

"It wouldn't be an imposition. Please, for my peace of mind," she practically pleaded.

"And mine," added James, "I'm sure she'll keep me up all night with her worrying, if you refuse."

Harry looked to Luna for her opinion; she nodded. So, he relented "If you're sure," he said, still hesitant.

"I am," Lily insisted, "and while we're on the subject of impositions, I know we didn't get off to a good start, but..." she hesitated, "Please call me Mum."

"You held me at wand point and kept me tied up for a better part of the evening." He wanted to—he _really_ did—but part of him still remembered the feeling of betrayal and helplessness he'd felt earlier that night when he'd wanted so desperately to hug her and been unable to. "Calling you Mum doesn't seem like a good idea."

Disappointment flitted across Lily's face, "I'm sorry about that, I really am, but you have to admit that your story is pretty incredible," she said, "Would you have believed it, if you were us? These are dangerous times and we have a baby to protect."

Harry hesitated, but if he was perfectly honest with himself, there was no denying that she was right. Finally, he nodded, "I understand…Mu—Mum," he had a hard time getting the last word out.

Lily smiled, "Good."

She bent to collect her young son from the cradle where he was _still_ sleeping. "The Floo address is Potter Cottage," she added as she stepped through herself, with young Harry in her arms. James went next, followed by Luna.

Harry brought up the rear, stumbling out of the fire just in time to hear James ask Luna, "So, one room or two? You never did answer my question, earlier..."

"Which question was that?" Harry interrupted, though he suspected he knew the answer.

"Are the two of you a couple, or not?" asked James, "It makes a difference for sleeping arrangements, you know."

Harry shook his head, "We're just good friends; Luna is my closest friend to have survived the war..." He missed the look of disappointment that flitted across Luna's face, "But you don't have to worry about rooming us separately; we've been sharing a tent for the last four weeks..."

"Nonsense, why share a room with a woman you're not sleeping with, if you don't have to?" James asked, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, "Unless you're hoping to sleep with her, in which case, say no more..."

Luna smiled at his suggestion, but Lily was _slightly_ less enthused with the idea, if the fact that she smacked her husband's arm in response was any indication. "Just for that _you_ get to transfigure the couch into a bed, while I show Luna the guestroom."

She stomped off, not even checking to see if Luna followed.

"It's not like she would have done it herself, either way," confided James, after she left. "She's pants at Transfiguration."

Lily popped her head back into the room, "I heard that!"

Once the two men were alone again, James set about transfiguring the couch into a bed, trying to engage his son in conversation, while he worked. He was only partially successfully. While Harry was willing to admit that the fact that he'd called Luna his 'closest friend to have survived the war' meant he'd lost many close friends, he'd refused to discuss the matter in any more detail than he'd already given in the Headmaster's office; the list was far too long, and the pain still too raw.

He nearly lost his temper a couple of times. But eventually James got the message and gave up, though not without adding, "I know you barely know me, and I understand that you don't feel comfortable talking about your feelings with me, but Lily's offer earlier goes for me too… I mean…" he stumbled over the words, "Please, feel free to call me Dad if you want to."

Harry smiled sheepishly and nodded. "Good night, Dad," he tried out the words, as he crawled into the transfigured bed.

"Good night, son."

"You know that's the first time I've ever said that..." the words came out a barely audible whisper… But James heard him all the same…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	18. Chapter 18

"Who you?"

Harry was greeted by a pointing toddler, the moment he stepped into the Potters' cosy kitchen, the morning after his interrogation in Dumbledore's office.

He smiled awkwardly at the child—at the miniature version of himself, "I'm Harry, pleased to meet you," and shook the sticky hand that the young boy had used to point at him. It felt fragile in his hand; had he really been that tiny once?

The child giggled mirthfully—his older self definitely couldn't remember ever being that carefree—and shook his head, "Nuh-uh, me Hawwy!"

"That's right," replied the teenager, "You're Harry, but I'm Harry too."

"Nuh-uh!" insisted the child, as he wondered who exactly the strange grown-up was; he who looked a little like Daddy, but he definitely _wasn't_ Daddy.

"Uh-huh," countered the older boy, "One day, when you're big, you're going to look almost exactly like me—hopefully minus a few scars," he gestured to the faded bolt of lightning on his forehead, swallowing the wave of memories the action evoked—all the things he'd come back to prevent _this_ Harry from living through, "and maybe a little taller..." _This_ child would never be deprived of nourishment, the way _he_ had been starved by the Dursleys.

"Nuh-uh!" insisted little Harry, though all he'd understood of the speech was that the stranger thought he'd look like him, one day, when he was big. When he was big, he wanted to be just like _Daddy_ , not some stranger.

His counterpart sighed—had he always been so stubborn? Was he still so stubborn? Time for a change in tactics. "Fine, you're right, I'm not Harry; I'm Frankenstein's monster come to steal you away..." he responded, adding a growl at the end for good measure.

The toddler shook his head laughing, "Nuh-uh!" but—just in case the strange man really was planning to take him away —he searched the room for Mummy. He found her standing near the door to the big room where they ate when Padfoot and Moony and Wormtail came over. The strange woman he'd met earlier was with her, and Mummy was leaning on a big chair; her eyes were wet. Mummy smiled at him, and he felt safe. She wouldn't let the strange man take him away.

Harry followed the child's gaze, catching sight of Lily and Luna watching from the doorway leading to the dining room. He nodded at Luna and smiled shyly at his mother, before turning his attention back to the child, hopping around the table, as he asked, "I'm the Easter Bunny?"

His younger self giggled again, but disagreed, "Nuh-uh!" The Easter Bunny was a _bunny_! Mummy was giggling too, but her eyes looked sad.

He didn't have time to wonder why Mummy's eyes looked sad though, because now the dark-haired stranger was pretending to be Father Christmas. He shook his head vigorously, "Nuh-uh!" Father Christmas had _white_ hair and a _white_ beard.

"I know!" exclaimed the older boy. "I must be…Harry!"

"Uh-huh!" exclaimed the toddler, clapping. The stranger definitely wasn't Frankenstein's monster, or the Easter Bunny, or Father Christmas, maybe he _was_ called Harry—but he'd still rather look like Daddy when he grew up.

"So you finally admit it?" asked the older wizard, smiling. It warmed his heart to see the child giggling happily, especially when he considered that in the original timeline he'd have been a few hours away from being left on the Dursleys' stoop.

"Uh-huh!" The toddler grinned, still clapping.

There was more clapping, but this time not from the child. Harry's cheeks reddened and he spun around. Luna was grinning widely and clapping as she entered the room, pushing a dining room chair in front of her. Lily stood in the doorway, still staring intently. Her expression was difficult to decipher, but Harry thought he could make out a couple of tears glistening in the corners of her eyes and he struggled not to squirm under the intensity of her gaze.

He was saved from further discomfort when Luna walked over, and leaning in close, addressed his younger self, face to face, effectively drawing Lily's attention away from her older son. "Listen here, Harry. One of the first lessons you need to learn in life is never argue with yourself. You always lose… And you always win."

The toddler looked at her pensively, trying to make sense of what she'd said, before getting distracted and instead pulling at one of the earrings that she'd appropriated from the Room of Hidden Things.

The awkward silence which followed her speech, as Luna tried to reclaim her ear, and mother and son stared at each other from across the room, lasted only a moment before being broken by the sound of little Harry's giggles. Lily stepped fully into the room, dragging the chair that she had retrieved from the dining room behind her, the sound of wood on linoleum loud in the relative quiet of the kitchen.

As she pushed the chair into place beside Luna's at the table, Harry couldn't help thinking that Aunt Petunia would never have let him drag a chair like that, afraid it would damage her floors. Then again, Aunt Petunia would never have brought dining room chairs into the kitchen either, or let him just sit and watch as she finished breakfast preparations.

He offered to help, but Lily waved him away, insisting she didn't need the help. So, instead, he sat back down and soaked in the scene, from the homey furnishings to the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

Within a couple of minutes, his mother lay a full plate of eggs and sausage in front of Luna, who had, by then, succeeded in freeing herself from young Harry's sticky grasp, and reclaiming her seat. "Eat up, children, there's nothing but skin on your bones," she said, as she lay a second plate—twice as full as the first— in front of Harry, before serving herself and sitting down in the seat beside the high chair.

Harry smiled shyly at the motherly admonition, "Thanks, Mum." It was strange how different it felt hearing the words from her than the hundreds of times Molly Weasley had uttered the same thing. He took a bite—savouring the taste of a homemade breakfast after a month of camping in Antarctica—then asked, "Where's Dad?"

"Sleeping," Lily smiled fondly, "Your father could sleep all day if I let him. Not that I'll let him though. The Headmaster sent Fawkes with a message; he's expecting us at one. I was thinking of leaving Harry with Alice and Frank—he and Neville always got along so well before we went into hiding. Now that the danger is over..." she trailed off, noticing how both time-travellers were shaking their heads emphatically, "What's wrong?"

"Not a good idea!" answered Harry, shaking his head more vigorously.

It was Luna who explained, "Voldemort might be incapacitated, but his Death Eaters are not. Both Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured to insanity by Crouch Junior and the Lestranges on November fifteenth.

Lily blanched, and brought her hand up to her mouth in shock, letting her fork clatter to the floor. "Oh, dear!"

"Of course, given the changes we've made just by coming here, they may decide to move up their plans...especially if you send Harry there," Luna continued.

"Then what are we waiting for!?" Lily jumped up, knocking her chair over in the process. How could they sit there so calmly and inform her that her good friends were going to be tortured—might be in the process of being tortured, this very minute—and do nothing? "We have to warn them!"

Luna put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "We will; but there's nothing to be gained by rushing things," she shot a reproachful glance at Harry, in reference to his actions the night before. "They're not likely to just take us at our word, and we really don't have any way of knowing what miniscule things might have been changed by our being here…"

Harry nodded his agreement, "Neville was a good friend, and his parents didn't deserve what happened to them. But things are complicated; we need at least one of the Lestranges alive—and in our custody—in order to recover the Horcrux that they have hidden in their Gringotts vault..."

Breathing heavily in an attempt to calm her nerves, Lily turned her attention from Luna to Harry, glaring. There was _nothing_ complicated about the matter. "So you're going to sacrifice Alice and Frank, to get to one of You-Know-Who's Horcruxes!?" she exclaimed shrilly. For the first time since she'd met him the night before–since she'd realized that this was her little boy all grown up–Lily felt the stirrings of shame. Was this the type of person her son would grow up to be?

Harry shook his head vigorously, in denial, "No! No! I didn't say that. Just that it's going to take careful planning—something, I'm not very good at. So we really need to consider every angle before talking to the Longbottoms."

Lily's anger diffused somewhat. "I'll hold you to that, because if something happens to my friends because _you_ decided to use them as _pawns_ in your game against You-Know-Who, I'm not sure that I'll be able to forgive you—son from the future, or not," she warned.

Harry squirmed under her glare, her accusation running through his mind. He'd travelled back in time to _avoid_ being a pawn in the war against Voldemort, to _avoid_ his family becoming sacrifices to the cause… _Was he now doing the same thing to Neville's family? Reversing their roles? Turing them into pawns and sacrifices in his family's stead?_

No; he refused to be that person. He looked his mother straight in the eyes, as he responded definitively, "I promise, we will save the Longbottoms—even if it means letting the Lestranges go free." His conscience would never let him live with the alternative.

Lily felt a surge of pride. She nodded, the last of her anger draining away—though her hands refused to stop shaking—as she righted her chair and sat back down. Laying them flat on the table, she took a few calming breaths.

When she next spoke, her voice was musingly sad, "When did you get so old, Son?"

Their eyes met once more. "I'm eighteen years old, Mum," he answered, confused by the abrupt change in topic; one minute she was yelling at him, and now she was asking about his age?

"I know, and I've missed your entire childhood…You've grown into a man that I don't know…" There were tears glistening in her eyes. "But that's not what I meant," she continued, "Your eyes; they look so much like my own, and yet they look almost as old as Dumbledore's." She paused. "Eyes that old don't belong on such a youthful face. You're too young to be playing with people's lives…"

"I—uh—" Harry stumbled over his response, unsure what to say, how to explain. She already knew about the prophecy and all it entailed, so that wasn't what she was asking. He tried to reassure her that he was okay, that he didn't really mind his lot in life, so long as he could protect the people he loved and protect the child he once was from living the same life he had…but the words wouldn't come out.

Luna saved him the trouble of figuring it out, "Such are the consequences of war," she cut in. "Young men and women are struck down in the prime of their lives, while those left behind are aged beyond their years."

Lily turned towards her startled. "You're right, of course. It's just so hard to get my mind around… Last night, I had one son, one fifteen month-old little boy. Now my baby is still fifteen months old, but I've got another child—no, not a child," her voice cracked, "a grown son, almost as old as myself, an eighteen-year-old war veteran who has seen more of the world than I have…"

Luna smiled reassuringly. "Don't worry, Lily," she patted the red-head's shoulder, and glancing over at Harry, added, "It's confusing for us too."

Harry watched the interaction uneasily from across the table for a moment, before making up his mind. There were butterflies in his stomach as he crossed the distance separating them and drew Lily into a hug, the hug he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember. It was made awkward by the fact that she was sitting, but she didn't push him away—as he'd feared. Instead, she drew him onto her lap, and returned the hug with all her strength. The position couldn't be very comfortable for her—he was half a head taller and at least a stone heavier, but she held him tightly and refused to let go.

She'd seen the hurt in his eyes, the hurt she hadn't been there to protect him from. Her baby had been thrown into a battle he'd had no place in, forced to grow up before his time. And yet, despite all his trials, he'd grown into a fine young man. She couldn't make up for all the years she hadn't been there, but she could give him this small comfort now, this tiny piece of her heart.

Despite the unconventional position, Harry found himself melting into the hug. He'd had hugs before—Mrs Weasley in particular liked to trap him in her embrace on a regular basis—but nothing compared to this, to the feeling of a mother's unconditional love and protection as she enveloped him in her arms and held him tightly. He didn't struggle to squirm free; he didn't want her to let go.

Lily dabbed at the tears in her eyes as they finally drew apart. "Anyhow," she tried to change the subject, "I'm glad to see you inherited my eyes instead of your father's vision problems..."

"I inherited both actually," explained Harry, "But I had the vision taken care of before I left home, when I realized that my glasses wouldn't survive the trip."

"Oh?" replied Lily, "But, I thought there was no magical solution for nearsightedness?"

"No magical solution, no," agreed Harry, "but for the right price, Muggles have been repairing people's vision with hi-tech lasers since the early nineties."

Lily laughed, "One more thing that the Muggles figured out before wizards then…So, it works?"

"So, far, so good."

Lily smirked mischievously, "Maybe in ten years we can convince your father to do the same…"

"Why so smug?" asked Harry.

Lily laughed once more, "Your father may not be a pure-blood fanatic, but he doesn't have a very high opinion of Muggles and their technology… My sister still refuses to talk to me since the argument he started with her husband at their wedding—about drills, of all things. Granted, we hadn't been getting along all that well before that—ever since I started Hogwarts—but _that_ was apparently the last straw for her."

"Probably best if you wait fifteen, then." suggested Harry, smiling. "The earlier surgeries weren't quite as successful as the later ones."

She was smirking once more, as she stood, "Can you two watch the baby for a minute? I'm going to go wake your dad up."

A minute later, the two time-travellers burst out laughing when they heard James exclaim, "NO WAY!" from the master bedroom…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	19. Chapter 19

"Perhaps we should let young Mr Potter start things off."

Harry looked up startled. When his mother had told him that Dumbledore was expecting them in his office that afternoon, he'd assumed the older wizard would be running things in his usual fashion. He certainly hadn't expected Dumbledore to calmly set aside the ancient journals he'd been perusing, and then proceed to turn control of the meeting over to someone else—especially him.

"He has the most complete picture of the situation, as it stands now," the headmaster continued.

 _Was Dumbledore just fishing for more information?_ Harry glanced around the sunlit room uncertainly. Luna, the one person whose attention he sought, was the only one not paying him any attention; instead, staring intently at Fawkes who stood preening on his perch, as if in the middle of some silent conversation. Sirius and Remus were staring at him expectantly, and the Potters were smiling encouragingly and nodding.

Harry cleared his throat nervously, "Um, yes... well... I dumped a lot of information on you all, last night. I don't know how much of it any of you remember… So…uh…the most important thing to remember is: Voldemort—" he ignored the hitched breaths his cavalier use of the Dark Lord's name elicited, "is _not_ dead. And unless we destroy every single one of his Horcruxes—"

Sirius, who was sitting near the door with Remus, shuddered. Harry paused briefly to make sure his godfather wasn't the only one to recall what he was talking about. Most of the group was frowning, but no one interrupted to ask, so he continued, "he has five, right now, though he meant to make a sixth last night—he will never die. He can and _will_ come back. So hunting down and killing each and every piece of his soul needs to be our priority."

All the men in the room nodded their agreement, particularly Sirius, who had a determined glint in his eyes, but Lily seemed to disagree; Harry felt her bristle beside him. Remembering his earlier promise, he added, " _But_ , there's plenty of time for all that," in an attempt to squelch, not her anger but also his rising feelings of self-recrimination for forgetting his resolution so quickly. "Dealing with Voldemort's Death Eaters is much more urgent. They won't stop killing, just because their Master is dead."

He gave the headmaster a hard look, his voice firm as he continued, "Luna and I memorised as many details as we could find about future Death Eater attacks, before we left. I want—no I need—your help to use _all_ of it. No _sacrificing_ anyone for the sake of _strategy._ "

He'd expected Dumbledore to object, to launch into some speech about the need to make sacrifices for the _Greater Good—_ _the portraits behind the headmaster's desk definitely disapproved, mumbling in a recriminatory manner about the tone Harry had taken—_ but surprisingly, the older wizard nodded instead. "Certainly."

Harry let out a breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He wondered if it _w_ _as it really possible that his presence in the past had changed the headmaster's outlook so profoundly. Had the older wizard seen something in Harry's memory that convinced him to change his views on sacrificing 'pawns'?_

"As long as you realise that the more we change things, the less accurate the information you brought with you will become," the headmaster continued.

Harry groaned. _Or perhaps the manipulative old wizard is just making promises he has no intention of keeping?_

Lily certainly thought so, if the glare she was levelling at Dumbledore was any indication. She looked positively livid, and probably would have started shouting at the headmaster if her husband, ignoring his best friends' looks of confusion, hadn't placed a calming hand on hers and whispered, "Don't worry…we won't let him sacrifice Frank and Alice."

The angry red-head pushed the offered hand away and stood abruptly, "Or anyone else?" she demanded, still glaring at the headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled back at her, from behind his desk, apparently unperturbed by the anger being directed his way, "I assure you, Lily, I have no intention of needlessly sacrificing anyone."

"It's the ones you decide _do_ _need_ sacrificing that I worry about," she shot back, ignoring her husband's gentle grasp on her elbow, urging her to sit back down. The memory of how secretive he'd been, when warning them to go into hiding, was still too fresh in her mind.

Dumbledore's eyes lost a little of their twinkle, but he waved off the accusation and motioned her to sit back down. "Perhaps we should let young Mr Potter share what foreknowledge he possesses before making any decisions as to what to do with the information. I'm sure we can come up with a solution that is agreeable to all present."

Lily reluctantly reclaimed her seat, but didn't stop glaring—and not just at Dumbledore. A confused Remus, found himself fidgeting under the intensity of her glare, which she turned on both him and Sirius for not supporting her until James, immune after years of experience, took hold of her hand again and gave her a reassuring smile. This time she didn't push him away.

Harry sighed. He was sure the headmaster had the best of intentions, but he was inclined to agree with his mother's assessment of the situation. Unfortunately, he didn't really have any choice _but_ to trust Dumbledore. Alone, he wouldn't be able to change much, even with the Potters' help.

Taking a final deep breath to clear his thoughts, he launched into a list of all the attack details he could recall. He hadn't spoken more than a sentence before Luna looked up from her staring contest with Fawkes and interrupted him with details he'd forgotten… and again… and again… Finally, after her fifth such interruption, in under five minutes, he gave up in frustration and just let her take over—she really was a lot better at reciting memorised dates and facts than he was.

Sitting back in the comfy chair Dumbledore had supplied, Harry watched the faces of the others present. Sirius was frowning intensely and kept shifting nervously in his seat every time Luna mentioned the name Bellatrix Lestrange. Lily, the most expressive of the group, kept squeezing her husband's hand—painfully hard if his intermittent grimaces were anything to go by.

Only the headmaster managed to remain impassive throughout Luna's entire recitation, the progressive lack of twinkle in his eyes the only sign that he was at all affected by the accounts of torture and murder. Even Remus, the most stoic of the younger men, reacted with a horrified gasp and dropped the quill that he'd been using to take notes, when Luna described the attack that led to the arrest of Antonin Dolohov—known for being one of Voldemort's most skilled torturers.

Dumbledore let the young witch speak without interruption, until she reached the end of her list. Only then, did he take back control of the meeting. At first, he tried to change the subject by asking for more details about Voldemort's Horcruxes, under the pretext that collecting some of them might be time sensitive, but a single glare from Lily was enough to cut off that line of conversation. So, instead, they returned to the matter at hand, establishing priorities based on urgency, and deciding which Order members to send to deal with which of the many upcoming attacks, until, by the end of their brainstorming, even Lily was satisfied that no victims were being forgotten or neglected.

Each Order of the Phoenix member present was quickly dispatched to set plans in motion, leaving only Dumbledore and the two time-travellers behind in Dumbledore's office; even Fawkes had been sent off with messages.

"And you two, what are your plans, now?" said Dumbledore.

Shaking the money pouch that Lily had lent him that morning, Harry turned to Luna and smiled, "How about we go get you a wand?"

* * *

"Harry Potter!?" Ollivander exclaimed the moment Harry and Luna stepped into the gloomy wand shop.

Harry nodded slowly, puzzled as to how the older wizard had identified him so quickly, but there wasn't really any point in asking.

"You're not due to receive your first wand for another ten years..." the shopkeeper continued.

Luna smiled reassuringly. "That's okay, Mr Ollivander. Harry doesn't need a new wand," she assured him, "I do"

The wandmaker turned his pale piercing eyes on her. "And you are?"

Luna opened her mouth to answer, but shut it again as he held up a slim hand to halt her response, pondering only a short moment, before answering his own question, "Ah! Yes, Luna Lovegood, daughter of Xenophilius Lovegood and Epiphany Cientia. I wasn't expecting _you_ for another _eleven_ years."

Luna frowned. "I'm terribly sorry to show up so early, Mr Ollivander, but do you think I might have a wand anyway: Hawthorn, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, with a unicorn tail core?" she asked nervously. _She wondered if he would he refuse to sell her one. Had he not had a chance to make hers yet?_

"Irregular," muttered the wandmaker, "Highly irregular, but I suppose you must. Can't be having a grown witch walking about without a wand, can I?"

Luna smiled serenely, "Thank you so very much, Mr Ollivander. I'll take really good care of it, I promise. I won't be back for another eleven years, honest."

Ollivander grunted. "Yes well, ten and a quarter inches, swishy, with a unicorn tail core, you said?" he asked, fixing her with an assessing gaze.

Luna nodded.

"Highly irregular picking out your own wand…" he grumbled as he searched the thousands of dusty boxes lining the back wall for the wand in question, "Here, try this one."

Luna's face lit up as she caught sight of it, "Oh, yes! That's the one!" She gave it a flick and her smile brightened further, as it responded to her magic.

"I've missed you," she addressed the wand. Much as she'd appreciated the replacement wand Ollivander had sent her after their escape from Malfoy Manor, it had never truly replaced her first wand, the one that had chosen her.

Frowning suddenly in realization, she asked the wandmaker, "Do you think you can make another? For when I come back in eleven years?" She didn't want to deprive her younger self of the amazing joy of holding her wand for the first time.

Ollivander furrowed his brow, and muttered "irregular" under his breath a few more times as he considered the dilemma… the most difficult part would be tracking down the unicorn who had given him the original tail hair… Finally, after a long moment, he nodded briskly, "It should be possible."

Luna grinned. "Oh! Thank you! Thank you, Mr Ollivander!" she exclaimed, jumping up to hug the older man, "Thank you! Thank you!"

The wandmaker stiffened in her grip, but managed to answer, "You're welcome young lady."

Harry cleared his throat, causing Luna to let go of the flustered wizard as abruptly as she had initiated the hug.

Still beaming, she paid for the wand, and Harry smiled fondly after her as she practically bounced out of the shop.

The fact that she was still grinning madly when they returned to the Potters' cottage in Godric's Hollow, had the added benefit of raising Lily's spirits—a little—when the red-head returned home disappointed and frustrated after her conversation with Alice Longbottom. The Auror had brushed off all of her friend's concerns and warnings for her safety, insisting that she and her husband could take care of themselves.

Lily let the teenage witch hold her as she cried tears of fear, fear that they wouldn't be able to save her friend, fear that much as she wanted to, they couldn't save everyone…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	20. Chapter 20

"Nope...Not me...No way!" Sirius shook his head emphatically, and banged his fist down on the table, as the images he'd just seen in Dumbledore's Pensieve flashed through his mind: venomous fangs long and thin as sabres, huge bulbous yellow eyes, a mouth wide enough to swallow a wizard whole…

No, there was absolutely no way he was volunteering to help Harry slay the thousand-year-old Basilisk currently hidden in the Chamber of Secrets. Unfortunately, though quite understandably, neither was anyone else. Even Luna, despite her earlier talk of adventure, had murmured, "I'm sorry, Harry. I'm not as brave as you are," when he'd looked her way.

The group, which comprised of both time-travellers, the Potters, Sirius and Remus—Dumbledore had been called away yet again for Ministry business—had been sitting around the dining room table of the Potters' home for over an hour, huddled around the Pensieve they'd borrowed from Dumbledore, and trying to make plans for destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes. So far, other than viewing some of Harry's memories, they hadn't made much progress.

"Is there truly no other way?" whispered Lily, still shaking several minutes after emerging from the Pensieve. She'd been paralysed with fear just watching the memory of Harry's visit to the Chamber of Secrets in his second year, watching her baby boy fight for his life. She wasn't letting him go back down there—not if she could help it.

Harry shook his head morosely, "According to Hermione's research, the Horcrux shell has to be 'beyond magical repair'. The only other thing I've seen work is Fiendfyre, which is even more dangerous. The Basilisk venom is our best shot for destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes."

Remus, who sat across from her, fiddled nervously with the tablecloth. "Maybe we could just buy some Basilisk venom then?" he suggested.

Beside him, Sirius snorted, "Not likely! Aside from being a controlled substance, Basilisk venom is incredibly rare and prohibitively expensive—even my dear Mum has never been able to get her hands on some, with all the Black fortune at her disposal."

"What does your Mum want with Basilisk venom?" asked James, grateful for the temporary change of subject.

"Darned if I know," answered Sirius, shrugging. "Maybe she wants to poison someone—seems like overkill though… Whatever it is, isn't good, that's for sure..." he trailed off, shuddering at some of the possibilities that crossed his mind.

For a while no one else spoke; an awkward silence fell over the group. Several times, Harry opened his mouth to ask, once more, for volunteers, but each time he closed it again, without saying a word.

In the end, it was Luna that finally broke the silence, setting aside the quill she'd been fiddling with absently. "I don't know why you're all making such a big fuss about who has to _slay_ the Basilisk. Wouldn't it be simpler to just use a rooster?"

"A rooster!?" James laughed, half nervously, half mockingly "What's a rooster going to do against a Basilisk? Peck it to death?"

"Actually, she's right," Harry cut him off before his comments could degenerate further, "I can't believe I didn't think of it! A rooster's crow can kill a Basilisk; that's why Riddle kept killing off Hagrid's roosters my second year. If we bring a rooster along with us into the chamber, we won't even have to fight the Basilisk …"

"No, we just have to somehow convince a rooster to crow underground!" responded James, his tone pessimistic.

"Roosters don't have to see the sun to crow," Remus spoke up, "They crow at sunrise, even if they don't see the sun, or if they see a bright light at night…" As the former—or rather future—professor continued to lecture, Harry found himself smiling at memories of the year that Remus had taught at Hogwarts. "Or if they hear another rooster, or if they see…" The werewolf trailed off as he noticed everyone staring at him in surprise. "What? I grew up on a farm!"

"Well that settles that then," said Sirius decisively, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms across his chest.

"Settles what?" Remus asked the question, though he suspected he already knew—and wouldn't like—the answer.

"You know how to get a rooster to crow; therefore you're the best choice to go down into the Chamber with Harry."

Remus glared at his friend, but didn't contradict him. "Fine," he answered, then, noting Sirius' smug smirk, he added, "But only if you come too…"

Sirius' eyes widened like a deer caught in headlights, and he shook his head vigorously. "Harry doesn't need both of us."

"I don't know, Sirius," the aforementioned wizard came to Remus' defence, "I think it's only fair that if you're willing to volunteer someone else, you come along as well and…" Harry smirked, unable to resist adding, "if all else fails, we can always use you as bait."

Only James laughed—earning himself a glare from his wife, to match the one she directed at their son.

* * *

Harry and Lily met up with Remus and Sirius shortly before dawn the next morning, just outside the girl's lavatory on the second floor of Hogwarts. James and Luna had stayed behind to watch the baby, since there was really no need for them to all be there.

"This is a _girls'_ bathroom!" Moaning Myrtle objected loudly to their presence the moment the group stepped into the room. "What are you doing in here? Come to tease me?" She pointed a silver finger— and glared accusingly—at Sirius and Remus, "Come to prank me?" Tears began to form in the corners of her eyes.

"We're terribly sorry to bother you," Harry cut her off before she could start full-out wailing, "but, we've actually come to slay the creature that had killed you."

Myrtle's expression transformed abruptly. The tears, that moments ago had threatened to fall, disappeared. "Really?" she asked, timidly.

"Really," Harry assured her, "Will you let us work?"

The teenaged ghost smiled—one of the few times Harry had ever seen her do so—and nodded, floating off to sit in her usual cubicle, and leaving the group to finish their preparations in peace.

Lily watched as Remus cast a hex to render the rooster he'd brought with him temporarily blind, as protection against the Basilisk's deadly gaze, before casting a dozen duplications charms on it. "Are you sure the duplicated roosters are going to work as well as the original?" she asked, nervously.

"They should," he answered, "and really we're only taking the extra dozen as back-up, one rooster can do the job well enough on its own."

"And you're sure you can get them to crow at the right moment?" she asked, biting her lower lip anxiously, still reluctant to let them go, despite the precautions they were taking; she'd been out-voted.

Remus leaned against the nearest cubical, his posture deliberately relaxed, and smiled reassuringly, though in truth, he was just as nervous about the whole affair as she was, "They should crow naturally at sunrise, but if not, I know a spell that should do the trick." Actually, he was probably more nervous, since it was his neck on the line, if things didn't work out as planned.

Still unconvinced, Lily turned to Harry, and asked, "You're absolutely positive that you have to do this?"

Harry smiled, in an attempt to put her at ease. "We'll be fine, Mum," he promised, pulling her into a hug when it became clear that the words wouldn't be enough.

Lily clung to him tightly, and a long moment passed before she finally managed to swallow her fear enough to release him. Wiping a tear from her eyes, with one hand, she reached into one of her robe pockets, with the other, and pulled out a charmed toy microphone. She'd enchanted the device to translate the two phrases they'd need from English into Parseltongue, using Harry's Pensieve memory, since he could no longer speak the language: _'Open'_ and _'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'_

"Be careful," she implored, as she handed it to Harry, barely managing a half-smile.

"We will," he promised, smiling back at her once more, before stepping towards the entrance to the chamber and activating the device.

The four of them—and Myrtle—watched as the tap hiding the entrance to the Chamber began to glow and spin, and then—just as Harry remembered—the sink sank out of sight leaving a gaping hole in the floor.

Startled, Sirius gasped and jumped back from the neighbouring sink he'd been leaning on.

"You want to go first?" Harry couldn't resist teasing.

"If a couple of twelve-year-olds and a fraudulent coward could slide down that thing, I reckon I can too," Sirius rose to the bait, not about to admit how unsettled he was feeling.

Suppressing a shudder, he approached the gaping hole, but did not jump in straight away. First, he took control of half of the roosters with Mobilicorpus, and sent them hurtling down the pipe as guinea pigs. Only when he heard the muted echo of the birds reaching their destination did he lower himself to the ground, and placing with his feet in the pipe, follow them down.

Sirius had already scrambled to his feet by the time Harry joined his godfather at the base of the stone slide, less than minute later. The older wizard was covered in slime but grinning like a madman, "That was the best ride ever!" he exclaimed, all fear forgotten.

"Trust you to get an adrenaline high from sliding down a tunnel of slime, on your way to confront a thousand-year-old Basilisk..." Harry scrambled out of the way at the sound of Remus' voice coming down the slide—with the final seven roosters in tow—right behind him.

Harry responded with a half-smile, as he stood up, "A rather smart witch once pointed out to me that nothing's worth doing, if you don't try to have fun in the process."

Remus sighed, "Shall we move on, gentlemen—and I use the term loosely?"

Harry lit his wand. Now that they stopped talking, the cavern was eerily silent, except for the sound of their breath, and that of the roosters restlessly fluffing their feathers.

No one spoke, as he led the way down a dark, seemingly never-ending tunnel. The sound of their footsteps— and the occasional crunch when one of them accidentally stepped on a discarded animal bone—echoed through the passage.

Forewarned, he managed not to react to the sight of the huge Basilisk skins they came across in the tunnel. The others, though they'd both seen his Pensieve memories, didn't manage quite the same restraint. Remus jumped back at in shock, at the first one he saw, and Sirius both jumped back and _yelped_ like a girl. All the same, the skins still managed to raise Harry's hackles, bringing back memories of the last time that he had come this way.

When they finally reached the carving of two emerald-eyed serpents at the end of the passage, Harry paused to brace himself before activating Lily's charmed device once more.

However, no amount of preparation could truly ready him for the flood of memories that consumed him when he laid eyes on the chamber that awaited them on the other side. He shivered, despite himself. The memories evoked by the walk down the tunnel paled in comparison.

Still, he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other, and walk the length of the chamber towards the statue of Salazar Slytherin at the far end, the sounds of Remus and Sirius' footsteps echoing beside his.

Only when he reached it did he allow himself to stop, to stand silent in the spot where—years ago and a universe away— he had found an eleven-year-old Ginny near death. He shivered again as the haunting memory was replaced by another, by that of a sixteen-year-old Ginny, truly dead.

Harry sobbed; the grief he'd been burying since the funeral pushed its way through his carefully constructed barriers. One sob was all it took, to unleash the torrent of tears he'd been holding back. He'd been lying to himself for months, thinking that things were getting better—they weren't. He still felt the loss—the raw gnawing pain of it—as if she'd died just yesterday.

The footsteps at his side stopped, and Harry felt a comforting hand land on his shoulder, grounding him. He took a few deep breaths to try to calm his nerves. It didn't work. It wasn't fair! _Why did she have to die!? Why did any of them have to die!?_

Harry summoned every ounce of strength within himself. _Ginny isn't dead_ , he reminded himself. _She's less than a year old, but she's very much alive!_ The pain eased a little, Ginny was alive, and he was going to keep her that way.

It felt like an eternity to Harry before he managed to completely stem the tears and recover his ability to speak. "The Basilisk is in a chamber behind this wall," he croaked hoarsely. Harry cleared his throat self-consciously and pointed.

Sirius, whose hand it had been on his shoulder, nodded. "So do we open it?" he asked, "Or wait until after the roosters have crowed?"

Beside him, Remus shook his head. "If that stone wall is as thick as it looks, I doubt we'll be able to actually kill the monster without opening it."

Both wizards turned towards Harry, for direction, waiting for him to make the call. "We'll open it right before sunrise," he decided, then looked down at his watch to check the time.

A minute later, he nodded, close enough. "Okay, everyone, close your eyes," he warned, activating Lily's device a final time with the phrase, _'Speak to me, Slytherin, greatest of the Hogwarts Four.'_

The sound of shifting stone, as Salazar Slytherin's mouth opened wide to permit access to the room beyond, filled the chamber. It was followed by the sound of the Basilisk beginning to stir and slither towards the entrance.

The fifty-foot snake hit the stone floor of the chamber with a giant thud. The roosters still hadn't crowed.

"They're not crowing!" exclaimed Sirius nervously, "Why are they not crowing?"

Remus didn't waste time answering. Instead, pointing his wand in the general direction of the roosters, he cast a spell he'd perfected as a teenager, one that never failed to cause the family rooster to crow, much to his parents' annoyance.

It didn't work. The Basilisk was still moving forward, hissing incomprehensibly.

 _Of course! The roosters couldn't see the flashing bright lights his wand was emitting..._ The thought occurred to Remus—too late.

"They're supposed to be crowing!" Sirius' voice was high-pitched and panicky, "Make them crow!"

"Cock-a-doodle-doo!" Remus called out; maybe he could get the roosters to imitate him instead. Catching on to his strategy, Harry joined in, "Cock-a-doodle-doo!"

Still no response from the roosters…

The Basilisk kept moving slowly forward. It was almost upon them…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	21. Chapter 21

" _Cock-a-doodle-doo!" "Cock-a-doodle-doo!" "Co-cock-a-doo-doodle-d-doo!_ " Sirius hesitantly joined in on the crowing.

There was still no reaction from the actual roosters.

The snake was so close that Harry could feel its breath. He started to back away, but it was coming at them too quickly. "Split up!" he called out, starting to run, even though he knew that it wouldn't keep them safe for long.

Hiding behind a stone column to catch his breath, Harry chanced a peek at the roosters. The stupid birds still weren't crowing. Instead, they were _preening nonchalantly_.

"They don't even look scared?" Harry panted, then, catching a flash of green in the corner of his eye, closed his eyes straight away. "Why don't they look scared!?" He was starting to think that maybe they should have brought Fawkes and the Sorting Hat, with them. But it was too late for that now.

"They can't see the Basilisk," croaked out Remus. His voice shook with fear.

"Can't they hear it!?" screamed Harry, just as Sirius yelled frantically, "THEN MAKE THEM SEE!"

"If I do that, the Basilisk's glare will kill them!" shouted Remus. He had tried to remain calm but now terror seized him. "We just have to wait it out. Roosters are unpredictable sometimes…"

"Remus, for Merlin's sake, do SOMETHING! If they don't crow soon we're all going to die!" roared Sirius.

"Harry! Sirius! TO ME!" shrieked Remus from far to Harry's left. "Keep this side of the roosters! The Basilisk must go through them to get at us!"

Harry had no time to respond. The great stone slabs rumbled beneath his feet as the great beast turned and slithered swiftly in the direction of Remus' voice.

There was a dreadful screech that ended abruptly. It didn't sound like it had been coming from ground level. Had the Basilisk just swallowed one of the roosters? Was it going to eat them all before any of them managed to crow? Just as Harry was about to give in to the panic, give up all hope, and conclude that the three of them were all going to die, the roosters began crowing in a deranged and panicked symphony.

They were finally crowing! "That rooster's death cry alerted the others!" shouted Remus. For the first time, Harry sensed hope in his voice.

The scraping sounds of the advancing Basilisk became frantic and irregular as the beast twisted and spasmed in pain, its hiss increasing in volume. There was a loud crash as its massive tail knocked down a nearby column, sending chunks of stone flying all over.

A boom reverberated through the chamber. And then there was quiet—except for the sounds of the roosters' continued frenzied and disordered crowing.

Remus dropped to his knees in relief, but kept his eyes closed, still fearful of the Basilisk's glare, still not convinced that it was really, truly dead…

Finally, as the last of the birds fell silent, Harry—arguably the bravest of the lot—chanced a cautious peek. He opened his eyes just a crack, ready to shut them at the slightest sign of movement. The giant green serpent was easy to spot, even through half-open eye-lids—it lay no more than five feet away. It wasn't moving.

Encouraged by the lack of movement, Harry opened his eyes completely. The snake was definitely no longer moving. Letting out the breath he'd been holding, he slowly approached the beast. No change. He gave the husk a solid kick. It didn't react. He grinned triumphantly, "I think it's dead."

Sirius, still trembling from the shock of their near-death experience, slowly opened his eyes, in response to the younger wizard's pronouncement. "Wow!" he said shakily, as he caught sight of the beast, the word escaping of its own volition. He swallowed hard and attempted a smile, "We just killed us a thousand-year-old Basilisk!"

Beside him, Remus pushed his fear own aside, and opened his eyes. Then, despite his pounding heart and wobbly knees, he pushed himself to his feet, tactfully ignoring the yellow puddle at his friend's feet. His knees buckled again as he got his first real look at the Basilisk—it was _huge—_ but he managed to stay standing. Shuddering slightly, he forced himself to speak, "I suppose we should get to work extracting its fangs, and harvesting the residual venom from its glands." However, he hesitated because, in truth, the idea of getting any closer to the giant serpent filled him with dread.

A full two minutes passed before he managed to move. Instead, Remus stood rooted in place, staring at the serpent's enormous mouth, the mouth that had been less than a minute away from swallowing him whole, the mouth that they would soon need to open in order to get to the Basilisk's venom…

Finally, he crouched down by the snake's enormous head to unshrink and unpack the equipment he'd brought with him—and found himself face to face with one of its giant bulbous eyes…

Shivering, once more, he made a conscious effort to turn away, to focus on the task at hand. It wasn't easy, but as long as he thought of the carcass as a specimen to harvest for ingredients, and not as the beast that had almost eaten him, he could keep himself from shaking uncontrollably, and concentrate enough to do what needed doing.

Barking orders at the others to get them to do their share also helped him to control his own nerves—not that Remus could ever actually bark; he was much too soft-tempered to even raise his voice. And…with three sets of hands to do the work, the harvesting was finished much more quickly. Still, working in the shadow of the giant corpse, it felt like hours, before they finished, and could start packing up.

As Remus carefully placed the fruits of their labour into a magically reinforced wooden crate—ignoring the looming carcass behind him—Sirius worked on banishing the duplicated roosters and capturing the original—who was surprisingly agile at evading capture, slipping from his grasp and dodging his spells, despite being completely blind.

When they finally picked up the container, and headed back the way they had come, leaving the giant husk behind them, Remus felt like a huge load had been lifted from his shoulders, as if he could finally breathe easy again. He allowed Sirius and Harry to carry the crate holding the venom and fangs—reluctant to cast too much magic on it, in case of adverse reactions—and instead took charge of the rooster—it liked him better anyway.

There was no need to call for Fawkes when they reached the base of the pipe leading out of the underground cavern—he was already waiting for them. His wizard they found at the top of the pipe, waiting in the dingy second-floor lavatory, alongside a nervous Lily and a giddy Myrtle.

"It appears that you were successful at your task." The headmaster's eyes twinkled, as they fell upon the crate that Harry and Sirius carried between them. "Perhaps, now we can begin the task of collecting and destroying Voldemort's soul fragments—which you seem to keep putting off?"

Harry smiled back at him, not about to let Dumbledore's twinkle unbalance him. "Sure! We can destroy the diadem right away if you'd like." He hadn't been putting things off, just insisting on doing them in the right order. "Can you call James and Luna, while I go get it?" He'd promised Luna that she could be the one to destroy the diadem, and besides, it could serve as a concrete example for the group of how tenacious Horcruxes could be. "Have them meet us in the Room of Requirement—"

"Now!?" Lily interrupted, her voice shrill. She'd finally started to relax a little after seeing the three men emerge unscathed, and now her son wanted to run towards danger— _again_? "You just finished off going up against a fifty foot snake, and now you want to run off _again,_ without even telling us where you're going."

Harry sighed, caught between being grateful that he had a mother to worry about him and being frustrated because she was worrying needlessly. "Retrieving the diadem won't be dangerous, Mum," he promised, reaching up to squeeze her shoulder in reassurance. "It's right here in the castle, in the Room of Requirement. It won't take me more than fifteen minutes to find—and it's not even booby-trapped."

Lily frowned, after what she'd seen of his memories, she wasn't convinced. "I'm not sure I trust your definition of _dangerous_ ," she said, her voice hard.

"I—" Harry started to defend himself, but Remus, recognizing the look in Lily's eyes, cut him off with a question, "That's the second time you mention the 'Room of Requirement. What _is_ the 'Room of Requirement', exactly? _Where_ is it?" in an effort to distract the red-head from her imminent tirade.

The question caught Harry by surprise, and he found himself looking back and forth between Sirius and Remus, in disbelief. "You mean you never found it?" Both Marauders just stared back at him blankly. "You mean to tell me that Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, purveyors of aids to magical mischief-makers, never found the Room of Requirement, despite seven years of exploring and mischief making?" Still no indication that either of them knew what he was talking about…but now Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling intensely. Harry couldn't help it—he burst out laughing.

"Sorry," he choked out when he finally got his breath back under control. "I've always wondered why the Room isn't on the Map…but… really? You never found it?"

"Umm… no," answered Sirius, "I mean, yes, we never found it. Of course, we don't know what 'it' is, so maybe we did…"

Harry smiled mischievously. "Bet it was a broom closet when you found it… The Room of Requirement is a room that can become anything you 'require'—if you know how to use it. Come, I'll show you… You can help me find the diadem while we wait for James and Luna."

Dumbledore frowned, and cleared his throat. "Is that really necessary, Mr Potter? Surely, it would be simpler if you and I were to deal with the Horcrux on our own…and everyone else just went home."

Harry shook his head. "Maybe, but I don't like the secrecy, and I think you might be underestimating how difficult it is to destroy a Horcrux; I was hoping to use the diadem as a demonstration for _everyone_." He smirked, "Also, I promised Luna she could have this one. She's a Ravenclaw, you know."

Dumbledore furrowed his eyebrows, none too pleased with the decision, but he didn't argue the point further, instead nodding his agreement, as he took his leave. "Very well. I will call them, and join you shortly."

Harry smiled, after him, but as he turned to follow him out, and lead the others towards the Room of Requirement, Lily grabbed his arm, stopping him. "We weren't finished our conversation, young man."

Harry wasn't about to let himself be deterred, not after winning his argument with Dumbledore, "You can come, too, if you like, Mum. I promise that it's nothing dangerous—unless you're worried about getting buried by several centuries' worth of junk."

Lily looked from Remus to Sirius, and then back again. Both were grinning like Cheshire cats. She sighed loudly, in exasperation, and then nodded reluctantly, out-voted _—again._ Hopefully, she wasn't being roped into anything _too_ dangerous…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl who was instrumental in making the opening scene of this chapter what it was, and also to my beta Arnel for her input on this chapter.


	22. Chapter 22

It was a shock to Harry when he saw the Room of Hidden Things intact once again. The memories of his escape with Ron and Hermione from the Fiendfyre flooded back and the loss of his friends in the Great Battle still hurt.

"Watch out!" yelped Harry, startled from his reverie, as yet another pile of junk came tumbling down.

He'd been joking earlier when he'd warned Lily about the possibility of being buried under centuries' worth of junk. But, that was _before_ he realized what a public hazard Sirius Black could be. His godfather kept poking his nose into e _verything_ and knocking things down…

Harry sighed as he climbed over the mess created by the latest landslide, this one the result of Sirius' attempt to retrieve a nineteen-seventy-five Playwizard from the bottom of a wall of junk. He couldn't remember having this hard a time finding the diadem in the prelude to the Final Battle, _even_ with Malfoy and his cronies trying to curse him…

They'd been searching the Room of Hidden Things for a good deal more than the fifteen minutes he'd predicted, and even with Remus and Lily helping—once they'd gotten over the size of the place—there was still no sign of the diadem.

Remus had even tried summoning it—unsuccessfully.

The problem was that he kept getting _lost_. The Room was immense, and nothing was where he remembered it being. He was fairly certain he'd started with the correct alleyway, and he _had_ found the enormous stuffed troll he remembered running past, the day he hid his potions text. But the broken Vanishing Cabinet wasn't there, wouldn't be moved there from the first floor until after Fred and George pushed Montague into it in 1996, towards the end of Harry's fifth year…and though he'd turned left where he thought it would one day be, he must have guessed wrong, because _nothing_ looked familiar.

Harry turned another corner—and groaned.

Still no sign of the diadem, or the large cupboard with the acid-blistered surface, or the chipped bust of an ugly old warlock, or the dusty old wig he'd used to make it distinctive… And, as if that wasn't bad enough, he was pretty sure they'd come this way already.

 _Clink._ "Ouch!"

Harry paused, and turned back towards the source of the commotion. _What now?_ He should have left the lot of them outside… Sirius was hopping around on one leg, like an idiot, and knocking things down—again. "Sorry, stubbed my toe."

Remus stifled a giggle, but Lily was decidedly less sympathetic, "You know you wouldn't keep stubbing your toes if you looked where you were going and stopped knocking things down. When are you going to grow up?"

Harry sighed, glancing down at the offending object that Sirius had dislodged. He was _not_ getting involved in the argument. He started to walk away—then stopped abruptly, as his mind caught up with his eyes. _Was that_ —?

He looked back. Yes, it was! Harry grinned. _Finally!_

His grin caught Remus's eye, who tapped Sirius on the shoulder, effectively interrupting his argument with Lily.

All three followed Harry's gaze. Lying on the ground at Sirius' feet was, what looked like an ancient discoloured tiara—Ravenclaw's diadem…

"Is that it?" asked Lily, her voice barely a whisper.

Harry nodded, but as he bent down to pick it up, his smile faded. Yes, they'd found it, but the Horcrux still needed to be destroyed, not a straightforward task—even with Basilisk fangs at their disposal. And, first they needed to find their way out of the cathedral-sized labyrinth that they were hopelessly lost in…unless…

His eyes fell on a discarded broomstick leaning against a nearby cupboard, not a current model, certainly, but it looked flight-worthy, and they would have an easier time finding their way out if they could fly above the walls of junk.

There was only one broom, in this particular alley, but that was easily solved, with an Accio—a little too easily solved. It hadn't occurred to Harry how many brooms would respond to his call and he had to duck as brooms came flying at them, from all directions, earning him quite a few glares.

Turning back towards the others, he asked, "How good are you folks on a broom?"

Sirius burst into a broad grin, but neither Lily nor Remus were quite as enthusiastic about the idea. Still, all three were decent enough flyers, and it wasn't like they had to out-fly Fiendfyre, or anything…

They emerged from the Room of Hidden Things less than five minutes later, and Harry requested a new Room almost immediately—this one specifically for the purpose of destroying the Horcrux. What he got was a simple stone chamber, with only one adornment: a solid stone table fitted with iron clamps sized perfectly for holding the diadem in place.

Harry approached the table and clamped the diadem in place, wasting no time. He knew it would resist destruction with every tool at its disposition—and he wasn't taking chances. Already in the time it had taken him to summon the Room, it had started to heat up in his hands—almost to the point of burning—as though it sensed his intentions and was already fighting back.

When he turned back towards the door, Remus and Sirius were still standing at the threshold, gaping at the complete transformation the Room had undergone. Lily showed a little more restraint, a raised eyebrow was the only sign of her surprise, but even she hadn't dared step into the Room.

Harry laughed and waved them in. "I told you it could become anything."

As the others hesitantly filed into the room, three stone stools appeared near the far wall of the chamber. More appeared as each successive member of the group appeared: first Dumbledore, then James and Luna.

Only Luna didn't take a seat. Instead, she approached Harry, where he stood near the door, the crate of Basilisk parts at his feet. She smiled when he wordlessly held out one of the Basilisk fangs for her to take. "Thank you for not forgetting."

"Are you sure you want to do this?" asked Harry, pulling back the fang. "I'll do it if..." perfectly willing to do the deed himself.

Luna nodded. "I'm sure," she answered, a look of stoic determination replacing her usual serene smile, as she took hold of the basilisk fang that Harry offered her, "I have to do this."

Harry didn't ask again. "Remember the Horcrux doesn't want to be destroyed so it'll do everything it can to stop you. Don't listen to anything it says."

The diadem began to hiss the moment Luna took her first step towards it, Basilisk fang in hand. _"Loony Luna...you foolish child...you think you're so smart? You don't belong in Ravenclaw..."_

Luna slowed slightly, but didn't stop. The Sorting Hat had put her in Ravenclaw for a reason. It _hadn't_ been mistaken.

" _Half of what you think you know is make-believe..."_

She hesitated a moment, but it was a taunt she'd heard often enough. People were just too close-minded. Perhaps she imagined it but from the corner of her eye, she sensed Sirius was smirking and nudging Remus with his elbow. She and Daddy had found all kinds of proof about the creatures that appeared in the Quibbler. And, even the Muggle scientist she'd visited with Harry had agreed with her about the Belgica. She took another step forward.

_"And now your Daddy's gone and left you too..."_

She felt sure now that Harry and Lily were nodding accusingly too, as if it were her fault. Tears started to pool in the corners of Luna's eyes. She knew the Horcrux was lying, that her daddy hadn't left her on purpose, but she missed him so very much… Shaking her head to clear the tears, she forced herself to keep walking, to focus on her goal: destroying a piece of the evil wizard responsible for tearing her and her father away from each other, and purging Ravenclaw's diadem of the defilement Voldemort had visited upon it.

" _He finally realised how stupid you really are, just like everyone else..."_

This time Luna did stop for a moment. She was sure that they were all laughing openly at her now. Remus was clutching his sides and shaking; Sirius pointing a disdainful finger. Harry's arms were folded, shutting her out, his expression clearly in agreement with the voice. The Horcrux had hit on one of her hidden insecurities. _No! Daddy didn't think you were stupid,_ a tiny voice within her objected. _He loved you very much and taught you how true wisdom isn't about knowing everything; it's about realizing how little we really know for certain._ The voice inside her gave her strength; she took another step forward.

" _And you're stupid enough to think Harry Potter's any different. He's just using you so he doesn't have to be alone..."_

The Horcrux clouded her thoughts with twisted memories, sowed seeds of doubt in her mind. Luna stopped again. Was Harry just using her? He _had_ been really lonely when he came to her daddy's funeral, and he'd lost Ron and Hermione—who he cared about much more than he did about her—and Ginny, and Neville, and Dobby, and… _No!_ Harry _was_ different. He didn't always agree with her—she could tell—and sometimes he looked at her as though exasperated, but he'd _never_ ridiculed her, not once... until now. Now she knew how he really felt, standing together with Sirius, Remus, and Lily, all against her, all mocking her... and yet...

"Don't listen to it, Luna! It's all lies! DESTROY IT!" It was Harry's voice breaking through the deception.

She took a final step forward. Her hands shook as she raised the fang above the diadem, but she brought it down, decisively in a single stroke, not leaving Voldemort's Horcrux the chance to taunt her any further or to manifest physically.

She allowed her hand to drop to her side as the Horcrux let out a blood-curdling cry, and started leaking dark and tarry liquid, as though bleeding. But, she did not move away. Instead, she waited until it stopped screaming, before reaching out and stroking the ruined artefact fondly, outwardly calm, though inside she was still trembling, her foundation shaken. "Do you think I can keep it?" she asked Harry. "I know that it doesn't work anymore but I'm sure I can make it pretty again…"

Harry smiled, at the odd question, but nodded, "I don't see why not; it should be harmless now."

Luna smiled brightly, as she unclamped the diadem from the stone table and placed it on her head, not seeming to mind the stickiness.

Harry wasn't fool enough to believe the facade. Five months ago, maybe, but not now. Now he knew better. Luna might hide her feelings, but that didn't mean she didn't feel them. He could still make out a hint of sadness, hidden in their depths. "You know none of that was true, Luna," he spoke softly. "Not any of it, but especially not the part about me using you. I care about you—a lot. You convinced me that life could be fun again, even though there are times that I don't want to believe it."

She smiled at him serenely, and pulled him into a hug, "Thanks, Harry."

Harry smiled back as she released him, "One down, four more to go…"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl who was instrumental in making the closing scene of this chapter what it was, and also to my beta Arnel for her input on this chapter.


	23. Chapter 23

The Room sensed their different needs once Luna had destroyed the diadem, but Harry was deeply affected by the new shape it adopted. He swallowed a lump of pain as memories of the summer before his fifth year rose unbidden: _the twins showing off their Extendable Ears, Mad-Eye Moody showing him a picture of the original Order of the Phoenix, Sirius arguing with Molly Weasley that Harry had a right to ask questions…_

He shot a look at the present-day Sirius—the Sirius who had never spent thirteen years in Azkaban, and never would—and managed a half-smile. His godfather, who was laughing at something that James had just said, showed no indication that he recognized the Room's new form—the kitchen at Grimmauld Place during an Order meeting. Then again, maybe he _didn't_ recognize it. Walburga Black _was_ still mistress at Grimmauld Place…

Shuddering, Harry shook his head, trying to banish the images that his imagination had conjured; he _really_ didn't want to think about what the house looked like now, before the Order cleaned it up… He focused instead on the impossible scene before him: his parents, Sirius, Remus, and Dumbledore all _alive_ and milling around the kitchen of Sirius' childhood home with him and Luna.

Unlike Sirius, Luna _did_ seem to recognize the room. Smiling serenely, she leaned over and whispered in Harry's ear, "All that's missing is Kreacher." Harry couldn't help smiling as the memory of introducing Luna to Kreacher replaced the darker thoughts floating through his mind.

Finally, he cleared his throat, prompting the last of the group to take their seats at the table. "So **…** that may have seemed a little anti-climactic," he began, referring to the speed with which Luna had vanquished the diadem Horcrux, "but, while Luna may have made things look easy, we only saw half the battle. Voldemort's Horcruxes attack your mind, and the longer you hesitate, the stronger they strike..."

He surveyed the group, but thankfully no one seemed inclined to disagree. "Okay, now that that's dealt with, we have four more Horcruxes to take care of..." Harry hesitated, glancing nervously at the headmaster.

He knew that, if they were going to make any further progress, he was going to have to share more information, but… how to do so without Dumbledore deciding to go off on his own and getting himself maimed or killed? Short of requiring magical oaths—which he would _not_ do—there wasn't much that he _could_ do.

Harry sighed. He couldn't keep putting things off, though; the headmaster was right about that. "So, yes, Voldemort's Horcruxes…" he began. "First off, there's his diary. Voldemort gave it to Lucius Malfoy for safe-keeping…" As he launched into an account of everything that he knew about it, the others listened attentively. The only other sounds were the scratch of Remus' quill as he took notes and the sound of James and Sirius snickering at the fact that Voldemort had kept a diary. Lily, who kept a diary of her own, glared at them indignantly.

The lack of significant interruptions was surprising, but Harry wasn't about to complain about it. He knew that it wouldn't last.

Indeed, it didn't. He was halfway through his description of Slytherin's locket, currently hidden somewhere in Grimmauld Place, when Sirius scoffed loudly and rudely interrupted, "What's my mother's house-elf doing with a piece of Voldemort's soul?" his voice dripping with derision.

Harry sighed, recalling the brave house-elf who had led Hogwarts' elves into battle, the elf who had burst into tears the day the two time travellers had bid him goodbye. He managed to keep his tone level, however. Sirius had no way of knowing, and, if Harry was completely honest with himself, he could remember all too well a time when he too had thought poorly of Kreacher.

He hesitated, not sure how to explain. "It was given to him to destroy."

"By whom? Why?" Sirius' tone was challenging, as if he felt that whatever Harry knew was a personal intrusion into his early family life.

Again Harry did not speak immediately, unsure how much to tell Sirius. "It was stolen from its original hiding place..." Harry's face darkened and his voice quietened almost to a whisper before he continued. "A very... very brave man had to sacrifice himself to do it."

Perhaps Sirius sensed what was to come would be unpalatable for his head dropped into his hands, his forehead nearly touching the table. Finally, he looked up, his expression tense, as if bracing himself. "Who?"

James came and stood at Sirius' side, making Harry feel even more uneasy. There was no easy way to say it.

"Your brother," he blurted it out quickly, before he could lose his nerve.

"You lie!" Sirius leapt to his feet and James took his arm to try to calm him. "My brother was an idiot and a coward! The Dark Lord had him killed when he got cold-feet about being a Death Eater!"

"Your brother was a hero!" shouted Harry. "He sacrificed himself to destroy the locket! Why would I make something like that up!?"

Sirius shook his head in denial. "No...no..." He leaned one hand flat upon the table as if he needed support and turned his head away.

Harry felt an arm around his shoulder and he thought it must be Luna, but James' expression told him it was his mother. He lowered his voice before continuing more calmly. "Regulus gave it to Kreacher to destroy, but he hasn't succeeded yet—mostly because he can't get it open without Parseltongue—and has been punishing himself ever since."

Sirius had sank down into his chair again. Beyond him, Luna shook her head and motioned Harry to back off.

He waited, giving Sirius time to adjust before continuing where he'd left off before the interruption. "Now when we were cleaning out the cabinets in the drawing room at Grimmauld Place—"

"Why were you at Grimmauld Place!?" asked Sirius, cutting him off, again.

This time, Harry didn't bother responding to the question, choosing instead to carry on as if he hadn't heard it, detailing everything that he could recall about the locket and its most likely current location.

He broached the subject of Hufflepuff's Cup next, stressing the fact that he _really_ didn't want to break into Gringotts to retrieve it. If the dropped jaws and looks of horror—Lily had looked particularly appalled and terrified—that resulted from his story were any indication, neither did anyone else, though Sirius _had_ seemed impressed by the fact that they'd gotten to ride a dragon to escape. But it wasn't Sirius's expression that worried Harry. No, he was more concerned about the headmaster—halfway through Harry's rendition his eyes had started twinkling, and he'd refused to explain why, except to say that he'd gotten an idea for retrieving it.

Much as Harry would have liked to, he didn't insist on an answer. After all, he wasn't being entirely forthcoming himself. He left Marvolo Gaunt's ring for last and, though Dumbledore pressed him for details, he refused to say anything more than, "The headmaster lost his hand recovering it, so we'll be leaving it for the end."

* * *

The Ministry of Magic Auror Headquarters was bustling with activity, dozens of interdepartmental memos flying to and fro, in and out of cubicles. And then there were the Aurors themselves, in their scarlet robes, rushing hurriedly about.

After ten minutes spent checking various cubicles for a trustworthy Auror who was also a member of the Order, James was ready to give up—he was surprised that no one had asked him yet what he was doing lurking around. Surely it would be simpler to just contact one of them at home, after hours, like they usually did. But Dumbledore had insisted on someone going immediately, and Harry had backed him up, this time. Apparently Malfoy wouldn't remain in custody much longer, and, once he was released, they'd lose a valuable window of opportunity—if nothing else, it'd be a heck of a lot harder to get a warrant to raid his house.

Just as he was about to turn around and leave—give up and try again later—James spotted Frank Longbottom, deep in conversation with another Auror, leaning on someone's cubicle, which was plastered with pictures of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Aha! Just the man I was looking for!" exclaimed James, clapping Frank on the shoulder, as he approached the pair, "I realize you're all really busy, but I really need to talk to you about a certain _order_ of business. Do you think we could step into your office?" he asked him, glad to have stumbled upon one of the few Aurors who actually _had_ an office, as opposed to just a cubicle.

Frank's expression, which had first registered surprise at the interruption, transformed abruptly. "Yes, of course, of course, right this way..." he answered, all business, as he ushered James quickly towards his office, though he did take a moment to reassure his colleague, "Sorry, urgent matter, have to deal with it right away, but I'll get back to you about those reports."

Once safely behind the privacy wards on his office, the fake smile the Auror had pasted on faded away. "Dumbledore sent you?" he asked, worriedly, not even taking the time to offer the other wizard a seat. "Is something wrong? Alice and Neville? He doesn't usually try to contact me at work."

"No, no, nothing wrong," James reassured, smiling broadly at Frank's sigh of relief. "I'm actually here to ask you for a favour." He paused, not sure how to explain.

"Well go on..." prompted Frank, as he shuffled through a pile of parchment on his cluttered desk, his tone mildly impatient, "I _am_ actually very busy."

"It's about Lucius Malfoy," James began. "It has come to Dumbledore's attention that he was amongst some of the Department's early arrests, on suspicion of Death Eater activities."

Setting aside the papers he'd been riffling through, Frank flopped into his office chair and grunted, in response. "Wasted effort, that," he complained, gesturing for James to sit down in the rickety seat across from him. "The bastard's already claiming Imperious. Mark my words; he'll be released before the week is out."

The chair, usually reserved for wayward junior Aurors getting a dressing down, creaked as James sat down. He grimaced, but resisted the urge to stand up and transfigure it into something more comfortable. "Yes, well…that's not particularly surprising, which is why Dumbledore asked me to share an anonymous tip he received. Apparently, the most incriminating Dark Arts articles in Lucius' collection are secreted in a hidden chamber below his drawing-room floor.

"Dumbledore was hoping you—or someone else we can trust within the Auror's Corps—could lead a raid on Malfoy Manor before he manages to get all the charges against him dropped. Might help you get the charges to stick..."

"How certain is this source?" asked Frank, "This the same person that provided the Order with intelligence on Death Eater attacks? Because, while some of those have been excellent, quite a few have been dead ends…"

"It's the same source, yes. But while the intelligence about the attacks was nebulous, this he's positive about." James had a hard time not sounding a little defensive in his explanation.

"Well, if you're certain," Frank agreed, "I'd sure like to be the one to find some definitive proof against Malfoy. Not sure how this constitutes a favour though..."

"I was getting to that," James smirked, leaning back leisurely despite the creaking chair. "The same source indicated that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named entrusted Malfoy with an artefact before his demise—a shabby blank diary with a black cover, inscribed with the name T.M. Riddle on the first page, which Malfoy has probably secreted with his Dark Arts stash. Though it'll likely appear harmless, in the wrong hands it could be used to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back to life."

"What!?" the Auror exclaimed in shock. He jumped to his feet, dislodging several rolls of parchment from his desk, in the process, and shaking his head in disbelief.

"Yeah," James answered, his expression, "I'm not really clear on the details, but you can understand why Dumbledore wants to recover it… It can't be destroyed by ordinary means, so if you could bring it to Dumbledore when you find it?"

Frank nodded grimly, shuddering as he replied, "Bad enough dealing with _him_ once, we really don't need any of his Death Eaters trying to resurrect him… I'll see what I can do."

"Well, I suppose that's all then." James rose to leave, but he hesitated at the door. "Before I go…on a more personal note…you and Alice…Lily's been beside herself with worry ever since Alice brushed her off when she tried to warn her…"

Frank swallowed hard. He worried about his family more than he cared to admit. But, no, they would not, could not, hide from danger. When he finally responded, his voice was firm. "You can't expect us to hole up and hide. I'm an Auror. Alice is an Auror. We have a job to do. Even with the Dark Lord gone, there's still so much work to do..."

James held up his hands in defence, "I'm _not_ suggesting you shirk your duties, but it wouldn't hurt to have a few contingency plans in place, just in case… Bellatrix Lestrange _has_ taken an unfortunate and unnatural interest in you and Alice…"

Colour drained from Frank's face. Alice hadn't mentioned that particular detail in her account of her conversation with Lily Potter. _Bellatrix Lestrange…_ _unnatural interest…_ He shuddered. He'd seen what happened to wizards that Bellatrix Lestrange took an _interest_ in…

When he finally responded, his voice shook a little, "Th-thanks for the warning, James. I'll discuss the matter with Alice. We'll figure something out... "

"Sorry to be the bearer of bad news." James smiled grimly. "You'll contact Dumbledore if you find the diary?"

"Of course, of course," assured Frank, as he let his guest out.

* * *

Two wizards met on a hilltop, where they had met once before. The scene cast by the light of day, was less forlorn than it had been for their first meeting, but not by much. The wind whistling through the leafless trees still added an element of despair to the setting, still masked the sound of the older wizard's arrival.

"You asked to meet me?" asked the younger of the two, as he braced himself against the cold November wind, his dark hair blowing wildly against his face.

"You once told me that you would do anything if I kept Lily Evans safe," responded his companion.

Severus Snape nodded warily. "I did," he confirmed.

"Lily is safe and Voldemort is banished, for the time being. Are you ready to make good on your promise?" asked Dumbledore.

Though Severus nodded resolutely, ignoring the cold shiver that ran up his spine, he was unable to hide his resignation, as he inquired, "What is it you ask of me?"

"Voldemort entrusted an artefact to Bellatrix Lestrange before his demise, a small golden cup engraved with a badger, which once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff. She has secreted the item in her vault at Gringotts. You must convince her that the cup is the key to Voldemort's revival—and in a sense it is," explained Dumbledore.

"I need you to convince her that you can brew a potion to bring Voldemort back, if only she brings you the cup from her vault," he continued, "Once she has done so, you must bring it to me, that I might dispose of it properly, for it is not an object easily destroyed."

"And how exactly do you propose I convince her of the existence of a potion that does not exist?" argued Snape, shaking his head in incredulity, "She is no Crabbe or Goyle, easily taken in by any tall tale. She may be lacking in sanity—but not intelligence.

"I'm not asking you to tell a bold-faced lie, just tweak the truth, shall we say," corrected Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling. "Given the measures that Voldemort has taken to avoid true death, such a potion does exist, and would most likely work with the cup as the final ingredient... I'm told it also contains bone of the father, blood of an enemy, and flesh of a servant. So, in essence, I'm not asking you to lie about the existence of such a potion, just about your willingness to brew it."

"And who will protect me from Bellatrix's wrath, when she realises I have double-crossed her?" inquired the Potion's Master; Bellatrix Lestrange was not a witch to trifle with. He shuddered as the wind blowing through the trees picked up briefly, seeming to echo the sentiment.

Dumbledore frowned at the younger wizard, his expression suggesting disappointment. "Do not attempt to convince me that you cannot hold your own against the likes of Bellatrix Lestrange, for I know you to be more than her equal. And... once she is imprisoned in Azkaban—which she will surely be soon enough, given her current level of fanaticism—you will have nothing further to fear from her.

"If, however, we do not get the cup out of her vault, and destroy it," Dumbledore continued, "Voldemort will rise again. That you can be sure of, as you can of the fact that he will not give up in his quest to destroy the threat he perceives in the Potter family—Lily included."

"Very well." The younger wizard bowed his head in defeat, thinking of all he would risk to keep Lily safe—even his life. "I will do as you ask."

* * *

It was simple enough for Sirius _Black_ to gain access to Grimmauld Place. Though his mother had blasted him off the family tapestry and disowned him, she could not manipulate the wards to exclude him, given his status as last-remaining direct male blood-line descendant.

Sneaking into the drawing room, where Harry thought he was most likely to find the locket, was another matter. He hadn't taken more than a few steps into the house, before his luck ran out.

"You! Shame of my flesh!" his mother screeched at him from the top of the central staircase. She hobbled down the stairs, wand drawn and pointed at her son, "How dare you come in here and you befoul the house of my fathers!?"

Sirius' control of his temper wasn't much better than hers, and being yelled at did not help. "Shut up, you horrible old hag!" he roared, "I wouldn't be here if I could help it!"

"Then get out you blood traitor! No respect for your betters! Out! Out!" she continued advancing on him, wand still pointed menacingly. Her angry face, ablaze in her own flickering candlelight, so dominated his attention that the greying walls seemed to darken and close in around him.

Sirius drew his own wand. "Shut up!" he yelled back. "If you'll just let me speak to Kreacher, I won't be more than a minute!" He stamped his foot raising dust from the hallway's dull, lifeless carpet.

"So you can contaminate him with your treacherous philosophy!?" she asked, still enraged, "I think not! Get out before I curse you!"

"It's about Regulus, you old hag!" Sirius changed tactics—sort of, "Or do you not care to have his death avenged, you crazy egocentric bitch!?"

Walburga paused momentarily in her advance, before her face twisted into even greater rage. "You dare to besmirch my good son's name with your foul mouth!" she yelled, poking her wand against Sirius' chest, "Regulus is twice the man you'll ever be. Just you see, he'll come home and restore honour to the Noble House of Black! Now be gone!"

"Regulus is dead you old fool! Dead!" countered Sirius. He hesitated a moment then his eyes flashed and widened. "He sacrificed himself to help bring down the Dark Lord you're so fond of!"

His mother looked shocked for a few seconds, but the moment didn't last. "Shut up!" she yelled back in denial. "Out!" she yelled a final time as she let forth a blast of magic forcing him out the front door, and halfway across the square.

Sirius wasted no more time, before Apparating away. There was _no_ way he was going back into that house while his mother was still alive...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl who was instrumental in making the opening scene of this chapter what it was, and also to my beta Arnel for her input on this chapter.


	24. Chapter 24

Sirius turned up at the Potter home in Godric's Hollow, looking rather dishevelled, after his disastrous Grimmauld Place visit. "I couldn't get it," he admitted sheepishly, in reference to the Horcrux he'd been sent to retrieve.

"What happened?" asked Harry. He took in his godfather's appearance as he let him in, then gestured towards the living room where Luna and James were already sitting, discussing James' trip to the Ministry. Lily was nowhere in sight but Sirius could hear her upstairs trying to coax little Harry to take a nap.

"What do you think happened?" he said, flopping into the armchair nearest the fireplace. "My mother found me. We argued. She refused to listen to reason and kicked me out. What did you expect?"

Harry groaned in frustration. "I was _hoping_ you'd manage to avoid notice. Or at the very least avoid confrontation..." He sighed; it wasn't fair to blame Sirius. Harry's only experience with Walburga Black had been with her portrait, which was bad enough. He couldn't imagine having to deal with a flesh and blood version of such a thoroughly disagreeable individual. But, that didn't change the fact that they needed the locket… "You'll just have to try again..."

Sirius shook his head. "She'll be on the lookout now. There's no way I'm getting back in that house before the old hag is dead."

"She's got a very bad case of _fanumalia_ _,"_ cut in Luna, "I could tell when I met her portrait. I'm sure it'll kill her soon."

Harry shook his head, "We're not waiting for her to die. That won't be for another four years…"

"What about my Invisibility Cloak?" suggested James. "I lent it to Dumbledore, but I'm sure he'll give it back to me if I ask."

Sirius shook his head again, "Not going to work. She'll set traps for me, like she did when I ran away from home. I'm not falling for that one again."

Harry sighed again, more loudly this time, then grinned suddenly—though the expression didn't quite reach his eyes. "Well, then, I suppose we'll just have to get Kreacher to come to us."

Sirius snorted, "Like that would work! He's not likely to want to answer my call and, as long as my mother is still alive, he doesn't have to."

"We won't know unless you try," insisted Harry, "Though, if that really that doesn't work, we'll have to figure out something else; we're _not_ waiting for her to die… "

"We could always speed up the process," suggested Sirius, smirking uncharitably, a hint of maliciousness in his voice.

Harry regarded he godfather incredulously. He wasn't serious, was he? Harry shook his head; he wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer to that question…

Looking Sirius straight in the eyes, he said, "We are not _murdering_ your mother, despicable human being though she may be." His tone left no room for argument.

Sirius, taken aback by the finality of the statement, didn't argue, particularly since a quick glance confirmed that both James and Luna seemed to have sided with Harry. That didn't mean he had to like it…

"Fine!" He threw up his arms in exasperation. "We'll call the _stupid elf_! But don't blame me if it doesn't work…or if it _does work_ and he spends the entire time insulting you and refusing to help… Krea—"

"No, no, not here," Lily—who had come down the stairs just in time to hear the tail end of the conversation—cut him off before he could finish the call. "You are not calling that despicable creature into my home. Especially not _now_ that I've _finally_ gotten Harry down for his nap."

Sirius' expression turned smug, as he addressed the group, "See? Lily agrees with me."

Harry shook his head in irritation, "We'll use the Shrieking Shack," he decided, shooting a glare at his godfather. It would be a simple enough matter to Apparate to the run-down shack and Lily was right. No need to give Kreacher access to Godric's Hollow, while his loyalty was still to Walburga Black. It was bad enough that Peter Pettigrew, still at large despite all attempts to locate him, knew their location. "It's fortified against Dark Magic, and it's remote, in case something goes wrong."

There was some argument about who would be going. Simplicity won out in the end, though, and Harry and Sirius went alone.

Unfortunately, the time spent arguing had given Sirius sufficient time to calm down that he was, once more, hesitant about calling the house-elf. However, it took only a pointed look from Harry to prompt him into tentatively calling for Kreacher.

There was no responding crack of house-elf apparition. He tried a second time, louder, "Kreacher?"

When the second call was no more successful than the first, Sirius shot his companion a look that screamed 'told you so'. However, Harry wasn't so easily discouraged. "Mention Regulus in your call," he suggested. "It might make a difference."

Sirius raised an eyebrow in scepticism, but tried anyway. "Kreacher, it's about Regulus"

He jumped back, startled by the loud crack that followed his call, as Kreacher appeared before him, scowling in his tea towel embroidered with the Black family emblem. "What does nasty ungrateful Master who broke his mother's heart want with Kreacher?"

Sirius started to answer, his response equally acrid, but Harry cut him off, "Let me, Sirius. He won't answer you, anyway. Regulus forbade him from telling any of the family."

The house-elf's eyes widened in surprise, "Who is unknown wizard who knows of Master Regulus' orders to Kreacher?" he asked.

"Who I am isn't important, Kreacher," began Harry, unwilling to give his name lest the word Potter prompt a longwinded rant about blood traitors and Muggle lovers. He chose his next words carefully, "What _is_ important is the locket that Regulus asked you to destroy, before he died."

The house-elf stared at him, shaking his head in distrust. "How does unknown wizard who hangs around with treacherous Master Sirius know about good Master Regulus' locket?" Not waiting for an answer, he began to shake and sob. "Kreacher has tried everything, but nothing will make a mark on the casing...so many powerful spells. Kreacher has failed to obey orders! Kreacher punished himself and tried again, and punished himself again. Kreacher cannot even _open_ the locket! And his mistress is mad with grief, because good Master Regulus has disappeared and because horrible treacherous Master Sirius has come to visit… But Kreacher has set traps for nasty disloyal Master Sirius, so that he will not disturb poor heart-broken Mistress again, and—"

"Kreacher!" By the time Harry managed to cut him off, Sirius' face had gone from pink, to bright red, to purple, in poorly suppressed anger—likely a few seconds away from losing his temper and strangling the misguided elf. "I know how to open the locket and destroy it; I want to help you obey your Master's orders," he continued softly, "but, I need you to bring the locket here for me. Can you do that?"

Kreacher, still shaking, looked up at him, his big eyes glistening with tears, and asked uncertainly, "Strange wizard wants to help Kreacher?"

"Yes, Kreacher," replied Harry softly, "Can you bring me the locket?"

Kreacher appeared to consider the matter for a good long while before he finally pulled himself upright, out of the sobbing ball he'd curled himself into, and nodded decisively. "Kreacher will be right back."

While they waited, Harry set about reproducing, as closely as he could, the same safety precautions as those the Room of Requirement had provided. First, he repaired the Shrieking Shack's severely damaged kitchen table, before transfiguring it into stone and conjuring restraints to hold the locket.

For a while, Sirius watched in silence as Harry worked, still processing his godson's conversation with Kreacher. Only when Harry had holstered his wand and flopped into a freshly repaired wooden chair, did Sirius finally speak, "I never realized..."

"Few wizards do." Harry smiled sadly as he answered. "A wise witch once told me that witches and wizards would one day learn to regret the way they treat their house-elves; they are beings capable of just as much emotion as we are. Treat them with respect, and you'll generally get the same in return...

"You've seen only a fraction of Kreacher's devotion to Regulus just now. I've witnessed him charge into battle, leading hundreds of Hogwarts house-elves, all in Regulus' name."

Sirius frowned. "But he still hates me and I still..." Sirius paused, searching his own feelings. Kreacher's words had confirmed what Harry had said – that Regulus had been trying to destroy a Horcrux. As for Kreacher himself... he had been trying to help him – and obviously suffering for it. For the first time, a trace of respect for not only his brother, but even the old house-elf had somehow crept unwanted into Sirius' feelings. He shook himself. _Regulus was a stinking toe-rag and Kreacher is still a foul little..._ Sirius straightened himself up, trying to come to terms with his own confused thinking.

"Yes, he still hates you but at least I'm hopeful he might help us – that in itself is more important than—" said Harry, but before he could explain, a sharp crack announced Kreacher's return, the locket grasped firmly in one hand.

He seemed to hesitate before holding it out, tentatively, as if afraid of being double-crossed.

Harry took it gently from him and laid it on the table. He then fastened the bindings he'd conjured, and added a sticking charm—just in case. Finally, he withdrew a Basilisk fang from the mokeskin pouch he'd liberated from the Room of Hidden Things when looking for the diadem.

This he handed to Kreacher, "Here, stab the locket with it once I get it open."

Kreacher looked up at him, in utter astonishment, "Strange wizard gives Kreacher a weapon?"

"Yes, Kreacher," Harry smiled kindly, "destroying the locket was one of the last orders that Regulus gave you before he died; it's only fitting that you be the one to finish this."

Kreacher bowed deeply, "Thank you, Kreacher will."

"Just a word of warning, the locket doesn't want to be destroyed," Harry explained as he stepped back, allowing Kreacher to approach the locket. "It might say some really mean things. Try not to listen to it..."

"Kreacher understands," the house-elf nodded.

Harry activated the charmed toy microphone that they'd used to get into the Chamber of Secrets.

From his vantage point behind Kreacher, he had a good view of the locket springing open with a little click. He watched as Tom Riddle's eyes blinked out from both of its compartments, just as he remembered…

The house-elf didn't move.

"Go on, stab it," Harry prompted.

Kreacher raised the fang with shaking hands, but before he could bring it down onto the locket, a hissing voice emerged from the Horcrux.

" _Pitiful creature. I have seen you fail your orders, time and again._ "

"Don't listen to it!" the strange man who had given Kreacher a weapon ordered harshly. "Stab it!"

But the hissing voice drowned the orders out. " _What makes you think that you, a pitiful snivelling creature have the power to destroy me, Lord Voldemort? You should have died in that cave; instead you killed your master."_ The locket was right. He _had_ killed his master, kept feeding him that terrible potion, and left him to die. He hadn't wanted to, no, _but_ Master had ordered him to… Kreacher lowered his trembling hands to his side, his grip on the fang limp. His whole body was trembling now. _He'd killed his master,_ but _Master had ordered him to…_

"Stab it!" the unknown wizard shouted again, his voice echoing in the small room, and breaking through the haze in Kreacher's mind. He raised his trembling hands once more, but couldn't bring himself to actually stab the horrible locket.

" _You are a disgrace to your Masters... Can't follow the simplest commands...Always having to punish yourself..."_

"Kreacher, stab it now!" the wizard was bellowing now, but Kreacher was paralysed. He couldn't do it. He was a disgrace and needed to be punished. Maybe he should use the fang he was holding to stab _himself._

"Kreacher, stab it now!" Sirius shouted, and Kreacher found himself bringing the fang down decisively, just as the eyes in the locket gleamed scarlet—unable to disobey a direct order from his Master.

There was a clang as fang hit metal, followed by a long, drawn-out scream. And then all that remained was the sticky shattered locket, sitting in the middle of the table.

For a moment, Kreacher stood and stared blankly at the Horcrux. Then, the fang fell to the ground as his grip on it slackened once more, and he sank to his knees, shaking and sobbing in grief. Oh, how he missed his Master Regulus, poor kind Master Regulus…Why had Master Regulus had to die? Why did Master Regulus have to order Kreacher to leave him to die? Why did Master Regulus have to give his life to avenge stupid, useless, worthless Kreacher?"

Harry allowed the house-elf to cry himself out. Only when he seemed to have calmed, spasmodic shuddering replacing his loud and violent sobs, did he approach cautiously, and place a calming hand on the elf's shoulder. "It's done now, Kreacher; you've avenged your Master." He smiled kindly. "Regulus would be proud of you."

Surprisingly, Kreacher didn't wrench away from the touch, as he'd so often done when Hermione had tried to comfort him. Instead, he looked up at Harry, his big eyes swimming in tears, and sobbed out, "Th-thank you, _good and kind wizard_ who shouldn't hang around with _nasty Master Sirius_." He even allowed Harry to help him to his feet.

When the house-elf finally stopped shaking, Sirius stepped forwards himself, and spoke hesitantly, "Kreacher?"

"Yes, Master?" the elf replied, his tone not quite as hostile as it had been earlier.

"I'd... I'd like to... Regulus was..." Sirius stumbled over his words then finally gave up and turned away, blotting at the single tear that made it down his cheek, against his will.

Kreacher gaped at his Master in astonishment and disbelief for nearly a full minute before he managed to respond, "Master is trying to apologize but Master is still an ungrateful swine for breaking his mother's heart."

Sirius laughed nervously, "Let's just agree to disagree on that one for now. It's hardly the time or place for me to start explaining my side of _that_ story..."

"Kreacher should be getting back to Mistress now..."

"Did you want to keep the fruit of your efforts as a trophy?" offered Harry, remembering how Kreacher had treasured Regulus' locket.

Kreacher shook his head, curling up his lower lip in disgust as he glanced at the destroyed Horcrux, covered in sticky liquid, "Kreacher is thinking that _that_ is belonging in the rubbish bin!" he responded before popping away.

"Well that's that, then," Harry turned to Sirius and smiled, "One more down; three more to go."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	25. Chapter 25

A streak of light flew through the outer wall of Dumbledore's office, cutting Harry, whose head was in the Floo, off mid-sentence. He'd been in the middle of recounting Kreacher's destruction of Slytherin's locket for the headmaster.

The silvery streak stopped in front of Dumbledore and materialised into a rabbit. _"Dumbledore, I've found the item you requested. I'll bring it as soon as possible."_

Harry didn't recognize the Patronus, or the voice of the caster, but the headmaster smiled broadly as the rabbit vanished. "It seems that Frank has come through for us," he explained, then, changing the subject, asked, "What was it you were saying, Harry?"

Harry allowed himself to be side-tracked temporarily, finishing his tale before turning the conversation back to the subject of Tom Riddle's diary, ending with an offer to come by after supper with the Basilisk fangs to destroy it.

"Of course," the headmaster nodded his agreement, but his expression betrayed his frustration. "It is not as though I can destroy the Horcrux without them. I still do not understand why you refused to leave any at Hogwarts."

Harry shook his head in exasperation, not bothering to respond out loud. They'd already been over this argument several times. Remembering his time at Hogwarts, he wasn't willing to leave such a dangerous substance in a school full of children; that and he wasn't sure that he trusted the headmaster not to go off on his own if he had them too close at hand—not that he was going to tell the old man _that_. So, instead, he simply shut the Floo connection.

Dumbledore frowned at the rude dismissal, but let it go; there was no point in calling the stubborn young man back to argue the point further. He'd just be turned down, _again_.

Consequently, he opted to simply turn back to the task he'd been working on before being interrupted by, first Harry's Floo call, and then Frank's Patronus—catching up on the ridiculous pile of paperwork which had begun to accumulate on his desk, since Voldemort's disappearance on Halloween.

The sun had begun to set and he'd made a reasonable dent in his pile of paperwork, when his office guardian announced that he had a visitor at the base of his stairs requesting admittance. Dumbledore allowed himself a brief grin, _finally!_ Then, _s_ etting aside yet another request for advice from the Minister of Magic, he instructed his office to let the Auror in.

A moment later Frank Longbottom, dressed in soiled and slightly rumpled Auror robes, stepped into the office, smiling broadly. "Headmaster!" he greeted enthusiastically. "I _really_ must thank you for the information James passed on your behalf."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement. "You're most welcome, son," he said, directing his guest to take a seat. "It was of use, then?"

" _Was it ever!_ " Frank flopped into the deep guest chair, exhausted after his long day. "Malfoy's little hidey-hole was hidden under so many wards that it was nearly impossible to find, and I probably would have given up long before I found anything, if I hadn't known it was there. As it is, I put up with a fair bit of ribbing from my fellow Aurors for my insistence... _But, was it ever worth it!_ "

His grin widened, "Malfoy was so confident of its security, that he stored some rather sensitive and incriminating documents, implicating both himself and several high-level Ministry officials in various illegal activities. More importantly, many of the documents pre-date the period of time he claims to have been under the effects of the Imperious, by a significant margin. So I'd say we have a pretty solid case against him. Even his pockets aren't deep enough to dig himself out of the mess he's landed in, especially considering the identities of some of the officials implicated by his records..."

"That is certainly excellent news," Dumbledore agreed gravely, but, his eyes betrayed his impatience to change the subject. "And the object James asked you to retrieve?" he asked.

Frank frowned at the change of subject, but he reached into his cloak, and pulled out a charmed magical stasis evidence bag containing an old black diary. "I managed to locate it before anyone else saw it…" He hesitated, fiddling nervously with the bag's seal, "Can I ask what it is? I put it in stasis because James implied that it was more than a diary. He said…he said… _that it could be used to bring He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named back to life_ …" the last words emerged a hesitant whisper.

The headmaster regarded Frank intently, his eyes no longer twinkling, "You mustn't share this with anyone. It would be disastrous if news got out." Frank, squirming uncomfortably under the intensity of the headmaster's penetrating gaze, nodded mutely. "The diary belonged to Voldemort in his Hogwarts days," Dumbledore explained. "He imbued it with certain qualities designed to help him live forever."

"But it didn't work?" asked Frank, suddenly incredibly nervous. He'd been worrying about Voldemort coming back, ever since James had hinted at the possibility. Now the headmaster was suggesting… "He-he is de-dead, isn't he?" he stammered, "Since he attacked Godric's Hollow?"

"Voldemort has indeed been vanquished," confirmed Dumbledore. "However, as long as this object and others like it survive, he'll never be truly dead. But you needn't worry yourself with the details. I'm taking care of it," he assured, reaching across his desk for the diary.

Frank Longbottom _wasn't_ reassured, not really… Even so, he handed the diary over quickly, suddenly anxious about holding it even through the buffer the evidence bag provided.

The headmaster accepted it without a word and, noting the way Frank's hands trembled nervously, immediately locked it away in his top desk drawer, to be dealt with later.

When he next regarded his guest, his eyes had begun twinkling again. "Tell me, have you and Alice taken any action with regard to Bellatrix Lestrange?" he asked.

Frank shivered involuntarily, at the reminder. "We couldn't prevent her from being released," he sighed, wringing his hands. "We simply don't have enough evidence against her. Hard to believe, uh?" He laughed nervously. Everyone knew she was guilty. They just couldn't _prove_ it; she didn't leave coherent witnesses behind. "But we'll be extra vigilant whenever we're out, and we've warned our colleagues that we're being targeted. A general alarm should alert the entire Auror department to our distress, if anything should happen to us."

"Excellent, excellent," nodded the Headmaster. There was no need for any harm to come to the Longbottoms if it could be easily avoided, especially since the Potters had been annoyingly insistent on that point, and he'd rather not have to deal with Lily's wrath, if at all possible. "Will you be requiring the Order's assistance as well?"

Frank appeared to hesitate, still on edge about the possibility of being targeted by Bellatrix Lestrange, but he shook his head. "Thanks for the offer," he swallowed nervously, "but it's probably best to keep this official."

Dumbledore nodded his head solemnly in acquiescence to the younger man's request, but, unconvinced of the efficiency and reliability of the Ministry, cast a silent and relatively untraceable tracking charm that would activate should the Auror get hit with Cruciatus.

"Well," Frank pushed himself up from his chair and stood, shuffling his feet uneasily, "Alice will probably start worrying if I don't get home soon. I came straight from work…"

"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "Let me know if you should change your mind."

"I will. And thanks again..." assured Frank, closing the door quietly behind him.

Dumbledore turned back to the, still ridiculously large, pile of paperwork sitting on his desk. He really should make an effort to finish it tonight. However, the Horcrux hidden in his drawer called to him, tempting him, so much more interesting than responding to his correspondence…

He was curious. After all, he hadn't gotten a chance to examine any of the others before they'd destroyed them…

Unlocking his desk drawer, he pulled the diary out of its protective stasis bag and laid it on his desk. He flipped through it cautiously, but except for Tom Riddle's name on the cover, it was completely blank. The empty pages were inviting, calling to him.

Surely it wouldn't hurt to ask a few questions while he waited for Harry to arrive… When would he get another chance to pick a budding Dark Lord's mind? With the right questions, he might learn enough to prevent other Dark wizards from ever rising to power…

He hesitated briefly, remembering Harry's warning about the diary, but then picked up his quill. He was only planning to ask a few questions, not pour out his soul to the diary, as the young lady in the time traveller's tale had done. There wasn't any harm in asking a couple of questions.

He began to write...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	26. Chapter 26

"You must be Harry Potter!"

As Harry arrived through the Floo into the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, his jaw dropped involuntarily at the unwelcome sight of the young man who greeted him: a tall, black-haired wizard, yet strangely blurred around the edges.

"Headmaster Dumbledore has told me so much about you…" the apparition drawled, gesturing towards the headmaster who sat slumped at his desk, quill in hand, looking every one of his one hundred years. The elderly wizard was deathly pale and appeared to be unconscious, but for his hands, which continued to move jerkily, like the hands of a marionette being controlled by a puppeteer. Before him sat a leather-bound journal, whose blank pages absorbed the words inked by his quill, as quickly as they appeared—Tom Riddle's diary.

Fear constricted Harry's heart. Never had he seen Dumbledore so beaten, so helpless, except on the day he was killed. Harry shuddered as the memories of that night came flooding back. Then, he'd been frozen by the headmaster's Full Body Bind _,_ helpless to help, forced to watch his mentor die. Now, there was no spell holding him in place, but Harry found himself paralysed in fear, unable to act.

And it wasn't just the headmaster's life on the line. If he didn't destroy the diary soon, all his efforts to re-write history would be for nothing. They might wind up with a world worse than the one he'd left behind.

Harry tried to turn his head towards Fawkes' perch. The phoenix had helped him last time, had brought him the diary to stab. But as the intruder droned on, shock continued to hold Harry in place; he couldn't take his eyes off him. Very, very slowly, he forced himself to look away... But Fawkes wasn't there!

Harry's shoulders dropped in disappointment. He found himself staring wide-eyed at Riddle, once more, praying that the other wizard had not noticed the slight movement. _What now?_

"But, he didn't mention that you'd be joining us tonight," Riddle continued pleasantly. "Had I known, I would have taken him into the Chamber of Secrets where we wouldn't be disturbed. Ah well…never mind that; the transfer is almost complete."

Harry wished it weren't so, but it was clear the boast was true. In just the short time since Harry's arrival there was a new intensity about Riddle's appearance. The doppelgänger was now almost as solid as he had been when Harry had first seen him in the Chamber of Secrets. He was running out of time. _What to do? What to do?_ Harry gripped the edge of the mantelpiece, in a mix of fear and determination. He was _not_ going to just stand still, and watch the headmaster die before his eyes, once again.

"I've had to rush things a little since dear Dumbledore seemed to be aware of my plans, but considering the amount of raw power he possesses—possessed—there's more than enough to drain all that I need in one go."

Though his words were directed at Harry, the dark wizard's gaze was fixed on the headmaster. Harry took the opportunity to worm his hand towards his mokeskin pouch. His fingers had almost reached it when a sudden movement of Riddle's head made Harry tense up absolutely motionless, holding his breath and watching. But the apparition's eyes were unfocused, gazing into space as he indulged his deluded bragging. Harry took a chance; he fumbled open the pouch, teased out a Basilisk fang, then slipped it silently into his pocket where he could access it more easily.

"He wanted to destroy me, never did like me...but I've always been one step ahead of him," Riddle gloated, still staring intently at the headmaster. "I'm the greatest sorcerer in the world."

Harry distinctly remembered objecting vehemently the last time he'd heard Riddle speak those same words, but now he held his tongue, biding his time. Slowly—so as not to attract attention—he began to inch towards the headmaster's desk, towards the diary. It wouldn't be easy to get to, with Riddle standing over Dumbledore's shoulder, but at least this time around he was the one with a wand.

"Dumbledore's nothing but a weak-minded fool," Riddle laughed mockingly. "He couldn't resist the subtle compulsion charm on my journal, couldn't resist writing to me, couldn't resist getting ensnared… He never did have the power to destroy me...and soon I will have drained all his power for myself." He grinned maniacally, "With his power and mine combined, I will be invincible!"

Pausing in his rant, Riddle shifted his gaze away from the headmaster, for the first time since Harry had arrived. His grin disappeared, replaced by an angry snarl, when he noticed Harry's approach. With an ugly look on his face, he reached down towards the headmaster's pocket.

Harry froze in confusion. What was he…? Suddenly, he remembered—Dumbledore's wand, a wand that wasn't just the brother of his own but, actually _identical_.

Harry stood rooted in place, a look of horror on his face, as he watched with bated breath… When Tom's fingers came up empty, not yet solid enough to grip the wand, the time-traveller breathed a sigh of relief, and took another step forwards, and another, and another…Unfortunately, he was still several strides away when Tom finally did manage to grab hold of the wand and point it threateningly his way.

Staring straight at the business end of the Elder Wand, Harry began to feel the stirrings of panic. He was still too far; there was no way he was going to make it. He chanced another desperate glance at the phoenix's perch, but it was still empty. Where was Fawkes when he needed him?

Riddle grinned, an evil glint in his eyes. "I had planned to make Dumbledore my first kill, in my new body, sort of fitting, his life-force for mine, but you'll do just as well, _Harry Potter_! The headmaster tells me that you travelled back in time to destroy _me_. Perhaps you shall have to be my first kill…" he taunted, laughing a high, cold laugh. Once it would have made the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up, but Harry had faced down Voldemort at the height of his power; at sixteen the budding Dark Lord still had a ways to go. "What, nothing to say?"

Harry wanted to respond, to stall for more time, but words failed him. He stared back at the Dark wizard, not blinking, his focus on Dumbledore's wand in Riddle's hand. There was no time to draw his own, and really, he didn't particularly want to test out how connecting spells from identical wands would react. Cataclysmic explosions came to mind—perhaps as a result of listening to too many sci-fi movies, when his cousin had watched them within earshot.

Instead, as a flash of green light shot his way, Harry threw himself desperately out of its path, lunging for the desk—for the diary—fang in hand. His fingers brushed against it as he caught sight, in the corner of his eye, of Riddle raising his wand, once more.

Time seemed to slow.

Riddle's lips started to move, and a streak of green light emerged from his wand, zooming towards Harry.

In the same moment, Harry raised the fang and plunged it straight into the heart of the book.

Riddle began to scream and writhe in pain, his cries echoed by the long, dreadful, piercing screech coming from the diary itself. Ink spurted from it in torrents through a sizzling hole where it'd been pierced by the fang.

Harry stood frozen, unable to move out of the curse's path. There was no time left to duck. This was it. After running from death all his life, it had finally caught up with him.

Or not.

Moments before the spell connected, the streak of green light suddenly fizzled out and disappeared, leaving a gaping Harry in its wake. Behind the headmaster's desk, Riddle vanished, as well, his wand dropping harmlessly to the floor.

For a moment the headmaster's office was silent, but for Harry's frantic breathing and the steady _drip drip_ of sticky ink from the diary leaking onto the floor of the office. Before long, Dumbledore began to groan and slowly stir.

Finally, his eyes blinked open, "Harry?" The older wizard shook his head in confusion, "My apologies boy, I must have fallen asleep. I was just asking the diary a few quest…" Dumbledore trailed off suddenly, his eyes wide with surprise as his mind caught up to the full scene before him: the burn mark near the fireplace where Riddle's first Killing Curse had struck the wall, Harry's dishevelled look, the dripping fang held loosely in Harry's hand, the still sizzling diary laying in a puddle before him… "What happened?"

Harry couldn't help it. He laughed. Never before had he seen the headmaster look so confused. "You got ensnared by Voldemort…" he began, all humour draining from his voice "and, he tried to drain your life-force…"

Dumbledore nodded sagely, the twinkle slowly returning to his eyes, as though that explained everything. "I see…I take it you took care of the problem?"

Harry managed a half-smile, "Yeah, another one down, two more to go…"

"Ah yes, about that, I believe I've already mentioned that I'm perfectly willing to collect the ring Voldemort used as a Horcrux, while we wait on my spy for news of Hufflepuff's Cup. However, in order to do so, I will need more information about it."

Taken aback, Harry couldn't find the words to respond. Dumbledore had almost gotten them both killed and released a younger version of Voldemort into the world, and he was _still_ thinking of going after Horcruxes on his own!? Shaking his head in disbelief, he flopped into the office's guest chair. "You're kidding, right? That would be even more dangerous than the diary should have been. The last time you went after the ring alone, you barely escaped alive, you lost your hand, _and_ though Snape managed to slow the curse down, it continued to slowly kill you."

"Then I shall endeavour to be more careful, boy," replied the older wizard, his eyes twinkling, "I admit I may have been a little rash this evening with the diary, but surely if you tell me what enchantments protect the ring, they won't be anything that I can't handle."

Harry shook his head in exasperation, "Even if I told you everything I know about the ring—which is a lot— it would still be too dangerous for you go after it alone. The Horcrux _will_ play on your weaknesses, on the deaths of your parents and sister. It _will_ convince you to put it on, which _will_ activate the curse, and slowly begin to kill you."

"I hardly see what one has to do with the other," objected Dumbledore, thoroughly unconvinced.

Harry threw up his arms and groaned in frustration. "The ring is set with the Resurrection Stone!" The words came out much louder than he'd meant them to, but they had the desired effect.

Dumbledore sat back, visibly startled, "The Resurrection Stone? You're sure? I'd given it up as nothing but a tale..."

"No, they're all real," confirmed Harry, "All three Hallows: your wand, Marvolo Gaunt's ring, and my father's Invisibility Cloak—which _I hope you're planning to return, soon_."

Surprise flashed, briefly, in Dumbledore's eyes. "And you possess all three?"

"I—I mean, yes—how did you—?"

"I couldn't help but notice the resemblance of your wand to my own... and then there was the fact that you apparently brought it through the Ring with you, which shouldn't have been possible... I could think of no other explanation. As for the rest, pure conjecture..."

"Yes, well you told me that a man in a million could unite the Hallows, safely—which is why you really should return my father's Cloak," said Harry, "I was tempted after the war…but…I've tried my best to be careful with them... I only used the ring once, the night I turned myself in to Voldemort, expecting to die."

"Which is why you want to come with me to retrieve the ring?" asked Dumbledore, "You think you're less likely to be tempted?"

"It was your idea, actually—your portrait, that is," corrected Harry, glancing reflexively at the place on the wall that Dumbledore's portrait would one day occupy. "I'd like to think you were right."

"Very well," responded the Headmaster, making a show of his capitulation, "You may accompany me. However, surely we should retrieve it as soon as possible?"

Harry shook his head, "There are so many things that could, and probably will go wrong. We might both end up ensnared…which is why I think it's best to leave it for last…just in case…"

Dumbledore sighed, not entirely convinced, but suddenly too tired to argue the matter further. Now that the adrenaline was starting to wear off, he was starting to feel the effects of his close brush with death…"Very well," he repeated, "we'll do things your way."

"Good," Harry nodded, "You'll let me know when you've heard from Snape?"

"Certainly," replied the Headmaster, nodding, then stopped short in realisation, "How did you know the identity of my spy? I promised never to reveal it to anyone."

"You didn't," Harry agreed, "Snape himself confirmed it. I may not always have liked or trusted him—in fact, I pretty much hated him the entire time I was a student at Hogwarts—but Severus Snape has saved my life more than once, and he was— _is_ — loyal to you. He has been since the moment you promised to protect my mum from Voldemort—even after you failed..."

"You'll keep his secret?" asked the Headmaster.

"Luna already knows," replied Harry, "But I won't tell my parents, or Sirius and Remus. If Dad hates Snape as much as Snape hated him, it would be a disaster waiting to happen...Good night, Headmaster."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	27. Chapter 27

"This isn't going to work, Headmaster!"

Dumbledore looked up, startled by the sudden appearance of the dark-haired wizard who'd just stormed into his office. The fact that he'd been caught unawares was clear evidence that he still hadn't fully recovered from his encounter with Tom Riddle's diary—normally he'd have sensed his visitor long before he reached the office door.

 _No, there was_ ** _nothing_** _to worry about,_ he brushed his brief concern aside. He'd gotten plenty of sleep _that_ night—eighteen hours straight— _far_ more than he normally did. He'd slept so much that he'd sought out Poppy the next day, but after tutting at him for half an hour about the dangers of magical exhaustion at his age, she'd given him a clean bill of health.

Pushing any remaining doubts to the back of his mind, he focused instead on the young man in front of him, "What seems to be the problem, Severus?"

The Potions Master growled in frustration. "I've tried everything; Bellatrix just doesn't trust me. She's always been frustratingly suspicious of all persons, not the Dark Lord," he frowned. "Then there's the fact that I've taken a post here at Hogwarts and that you've vouched for me with the Ministry..."

"Have you not tried explaining that the Dark Lord's requested that you take the post to spy on me?" asked Dumbledore jovially.

Snape shot him a glare before responding, "Of course, I've _tried_. But, she's not convinced," he drawled. "She remains firm in her belief that I'm working for you. She'll _never_ let me _see_ the Cup, never mind _touch_ it…"

"I see," Dumbledore nodded gravely, but his eyes continued to twinkle as he reached into one of his desk drawers and pulled out a leather-bound text, stained in blood. "Perhaps this would help."

Snape's eyes widened in surprise, as he caught a glimpse of the title. "Is that…?"

Dumbledore nodded, "It took me a while to find, but this particular potions grimoire contains the necromantic ritual which, I believe, Voldemort intended to use for his return."

"May I?" Snape asked reverently, holding out a shaking hand towards the book, which, if the tales were to believed, had been written by Salazar Slytherin himself, with additions by various Potions Masters—some darker than others—over the years. The recipes it supposedly contained…

Disapproval flickered briefly on the headmaster's face, who hadn't expected quite so much enthusiasm—it was a _very_ dark text. However, seeing as he'd brought it out himself, he wasn't exactly in any position to object.

"Of course," he nodded, though his expression, as he handed it over, clearly conveyed a warning against succumbing to the temptation of the darker potions and rituals contained within. "The ritual I mentioned is on page five-hundred-thirty-nine."

Snape took the tome from him gingerly and carefully flipped through the ancient blood-stained sheets, pausing only when he reached the page in question; there'd be plenty of time to examine the volume more closely, at a later date—he hoped.

"Powdered root of asphodel… re'em blood… medium heat… alihotsy…" he began to read, mumbling under his breath, "powdered unicorn horn… stir counter-clockwise… fluxweed… runespoor eggs… hellebore… bone of the father… flesh of the servant… blood of the enemy…" he trailed off, as he reached the final ingredients, his eyes widening in surprise. True he'd brewed much worse on the Dark Lord's orders, but he hadn't expected Dumbledore to…

"You actually expect me to brew this?" he demanded.

"Of course not!" Dumbledore answered sharply, his voice leaving no doubt as to his disapproval. "Just show it to Ms Lestrange as proof of your sincerity."

Snape snorted, unconvinced that the headmaster had fully grasped the depth of Bellatrix's paranoia, "And if she insists on brewing it herself?"

"You tutored Ms Lestrange during her Hogwarts years, did you not?" The headmaster smirked mischievously, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes momentarily magnified, as he imagined a grotesquely deformed Voldemort cursing Bellatrix Lestrange to within an inch of her life. "Do you honestly believe that she would risk her limited skills on such a complex potion once you remind her of the consequences of Voldemort's wrath should she fail to brew it perfectly?"

Severus shuddered. Bellatrix had always been much better at curses than potions—even as a first-year—which is how he'd wound up 'tutoring' her, if by 'tutoring' you meant doing all the work for her, including submitting a second vial of his own practical work with her name on it. Slughorn had never given any indication that he suspected, _how did the headmaster…?_

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. No, Potions had never been Bella's forte; he suspected even Pettigrew was probably better than her… Still, not being privy to the product of Dumbledore's imagination, he took a moment before agreeing hesitantly. "Perhaps not, but I still doubt that she'll ever let me _touch_ the Cup."

The headmaster refused to be deterred. He reached into his robe pockets and withdrew a fortified vial—which Harry had _finally_ agreed to leave with him. "And if you didn't need to touch it?" Handing the vial to the perplexed younger wizard, he clarified. "Basilisk venom; It should destroy the Cup on contact, if you can convince her to drop it into your cauldron."

Snape's jaw dropped uncharacteristically in surprise, and he found himself staring in disbelief at the vial in his hand. "Basilisk venom?" he asked. The substance was almost as rare as the book resting on his lap."How did you...?"

Dumbledore smiled back at him enigmatically, not deigning the question with a response.

Snape growled in frustration, but did not insist. In the brief amount of time that he'd been working for the older wizard, he'd learned rather quickly that Dumbledore was frustratingly frugal when it came to dispensing information. Trying to get answers out of the headmaster, that he didn't want to give, was an exercise in futility. Instead, gently depositing the vial in his front robe pocket for safe-keeping, and asked a different question, "And it will neutralize whatever magic the Dark Lord cast on the Cup?"

"It should."

The young Potions Master groaned in dismay, but Dumbledore showed no indication that he'd noticed the other wizard's distress, "Thus far we have only used the Basilisk's _fangs_ to destroy similar artefacts—by stabbing them. However the venom, in its pure form is certainly destructive enough that it should have the same reaction if used properly."

Snape was hardly reassured by the headmaster's uncompelling response— _he was risking his life on a hunch?_ However, he found himself nodding slowly, despite his fears, his mind already going over possible ways to augment the destructive properties of the venom, without also destroying his cauldron in the process. Complaining would only earn him another disappointed frown, and a reminder of his promise to do _anything_ in exchange for Lily's safety.

"Excellent," exclaimed Dumbledore, smiling genially. "I'll let you get to work, then, but do come see me later, with your cauldron, so that I can charm it into a Portkey onto the grounds, just in case."

Nodding sharply, Snape thanked the headmaster for the offer, resisting the urge to scowl at the older wizard's nonchalance and blatant dismissal. Then pivoting abruptly towards the door, he took his leave, escaping to his private potion's lab down in the Hogwarts dungeons, to experiment on possible solutions to his dilemma. _Maybe, just maybe, this crazy idea might actually work…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	28. Chapter 28

Severus winced as Bellatrix's eyes flared with anger, and she threw the priceless potions grimoire he'd been showing her aside, mindless of its value.

She lifted her wand.

" _Crucio_ _!_ "

Smiling malevolently, she watched as he writhed in pain and dropped to his knees at her feet, screaming as though every nerve in his body was on fire. She'd never much liked the man, but even so, she couldn't believe that he'd had the audacity to come into her home and suggest—to her face—that the Dark Lord would likely emerge misshapen if she brewed his resurrection potion herself, _and_ then to accuse her of being incapable of properly brewing so much as a simple first-year boil cure…

It didn't matter that he was probably right; she'd make sure that he suffered for the insult! As such, she waited until he'd screamed himself hoarse before finally lifting the curse. Then, smiling sweetly at his trembling form, she simpered, "I suppose I can let you brew the potion for me," taking enjoyment from the sight of him struggling to his feet, "But…"

Snape halted mid-motion, not willing to waste energy to get up from the cold, hard tile if Bellatrix was planning to curse him again. He certainly wasn't in any state to fight back at the moment. While the Dark witch might not be as powerful as her Master, what she lacked in power, she more than made up for in enthusiasm.

Groaning, he cursed himself for letting his guard down in the first place, and asked himself, yet again, why he'd agreed to go along with this crazy scheme, and why he'd agreed to meet with her here, at the Lestrange manor house, where she had the upper hand. So far, not much had gone according to the headmaster's plan—unless it had been the old coot's intention for Bellatrix to torture him to within an inch or two of his sanity…

"I shall acquire and add the final ingredients to the potion myself," she continued, the malicious glint in her eyes leaving no room for argument.

Severus sighed in relief. That, he could live with. Once she dropped Hufflepuff's cup containing – unknown to her – the black soul of Voldemort, into the potion, there'd be no need for the three final ingredients. Let her dig up Tom Riddle Senior's grave and cut off a portion of her own flesh in anticipation, if she wished; he preferred his own limbs intact. True, it was regrettable that whatever unwilling donor she found for 'blood of the enemy' was unlikely to survive the donation process, but it was a sacrifice that he was willing to make in order to keep Lily safe—Lily.

She wouldn't go after Lily, would she? No, Bellatrix knew nothing of the prophecy; there was _no_ reason for her to go after the Potters and, seeing as the Dark Lord had met his demise in their home, she'd be foolish to even consider it…but…what of her thirst for revenge…?

 _No!_ Severus struggled to get his emotions under control; he would not go down that path. Instead, grateful for Cruciatus induced tremors that hid his physical reaction, and the Occulmency shield that protected he true thoughts, he rasped, "Very well, if you insist."

Bellatrix smiled down at him, the firelight that lit the sombre room reflecting off her face, and making her appear more maniacal than usual. "I knew that you'd see reason, Severus."

The Potions Master shuddered at the glint in her eyes, then cursing himself for the lack of self-control—he'd become complacent since the Dark Lord's disappearance—pushed himself to his feet, despite the tremors still wracking his body. It was difficult to keep the fury out of his voice but, with great effort, he managed to respond civilly, "Shall we meet at the grave of our Lord's father, in three days time? I assume you know—"

The glare she sent his way was so vicious, that he didn't dare finish his sentence. Either she knew, or she'd figure it out on her own. He wasn't going to be the one to tell her that Voldemort's father had been a Muggle, nor where he was buried, not if she was planning to reward him with another round of Cruciatus. Best he take his leave, while he still could.

* * *

Three nights later, found Severus Snape waiting beneath the leafless branches of the yew tree in the Little Hangleton graveyard, within sight of Tom Riddle Senior's recently excavated grave. It was a cloudy moonless night, lit only by the flames heating his largest stone cauldron and the fiery sparkling potion within.

In appearance, the potion closely resembled the one that he'd shown Bellatrix, the one that could resurrect the Dark Lord. However, in reality, it contained none of the same ingredients. Instead, it had been brewed with the goal of selectively enhancing the destructive properties of the Basilisk venom it contained.

By the time Bellatrix Apparated into the graveyard several hours later, her thick dark hair blowing wildly, the Potions Master had almost given up hope of her showing up. Chilled to the bone by the cold November wind, despite his proximity to the fire and copious use of warming charms, he wasted no time on pleasantries, "The potion is ready and awaits only the final ingredients. I trust you brought Hufflepuff's Cup and not a piece of worthless junk?"

"I brought it," she answered defensively, pulling a tiny golden cup with two finely wrought handles reverently from her cloak pocket, and holding it up to the firelight to show him the tiny badger engraved on its surface.

A minute passed, and another…but, she made no move to place it in the cauldron. Finally, after a third minute had passed without either of them moving, the night silent but for the crackling fire and the howling wind, Snape scowled, "You were quite insistent that you be the one to add the final ingredients. What are you waiting for?"

When she _still_ showed no sign of moving closer, he added derisively, "Changed your mind about resurrecting the Dark Lord? Decided to replace him instead?"

The reaction he got was not quite that he one that he was hoping for—rather than step forward to prove him wrong, Bellatrix drew her wand, pointing it at him menacingly.

"Careful!" Snape drew his own wand before she could curse him; they were _not_ going that road again. "You'll ruin the potion, you fool!" Okay, so maybe getting her mad wasn't the best approach...

Reassured by the fact that no curse was forthcoming—though Bellatrix kept her wand pointed at him warningly with one hand, while the other lovingly cradled the Cup—Severus tried another approach, remembering something the headmaster had said when he'd gone to him to have his cauldron charmed into a Portkey. "Do you not feel the cup reacting to the potion?" he asked.

The Dark witch's eyes widened in surprise, and she lowered her wand-hand to her side. "It _has_ grown warmer—almost unbearably so. How did you know?" she demanded.

"The potion is calling to it, as it should," Severus drawled acerbically. "Hurry up and drop the Cup into the cauldron, before you scald yourself."

Bellatrix hesitated a moment longer, then took a few steps towards the cauldron. However, she was still several paces away when a low hiss emerged from the Cup, stopping her in her tracks, "Ssstop…it'sss a trap… he meansss to dessstroy me."

Bellatrix's expression transformed instantly in unconcealed rage and fury, and she jumped back, almost tripping over a tombstone in her efforts to put more distance between herself and the cauldron. "You traitor! I knew it! _Crucio_ _!_ " she screamed, her wand once more pointed at the turncoat.

As Severus ducked, taking shelter behind his fortified stone cauldron just in time to avoid the pain curse, he spared a moment's thought to silently curse the headmaster for neglecting to warn him that _the bloody Cup had a mind of its own_ and might try to defend itself. Then, he promptly pushed his anger aside. Duelling Bellatrix would take all his concentration; he could worry about the headmaster later.

He stood to face his opponent, but was forced to dodge once more, as she shot another Cruciatus his way. So, his from position of relative safety, he attempted to summon the Cup, which had fallen silent since Bellatrix started cursing him.

The spell failed.

Snape groaned in frustration. Now he was going to have to get close enough to the _crazy bitch_ to take the Cup from her by force. Time to go on the offensive.

Popping his head and wand hand out from behind cover, he silently cast, " _Sectumsempra_ _!_ "

Bellatrix brought up a shield just in time, but the time she took to defend herself gave him the opening that he'd been looking for. " _Crucio_ _!_ "

She dodged successfully—but now she was enraged, and distracted, " _Crucio_ _!_ "

Apparating out of the path of her retaliatory Cruciatus—just in time—her opponent reappeared behind her, but, rather than attack, he took momentary shelter behind a marble tombstone. Using up a few precious seconds, he cast a set of sloppy but temporarily effective anti-Apparition wards, to prevent her using the same tactic.

She was now between him and the cauldron, and each curse they traded—very few of which hit their target—drove them closer to the yew tree, and the sparkling potion beneath it.

Finally, in a last desperate lunge to avoid yet another of Bellatrix's savage torture curses, Snape tackled his opponent, pushing her against the cauldron and forcing her entire left arm, which still held Hufflepuff's Cup, into the potion.

Immediately there was a reaction: a sound like an explosion, accompanied by a loud piercing scream. Before she could bring her wand to bear, Bellatrix was thrown back from the cauldron, landing a good five feet away, her left hand cradled against her chest and burnt beyond recognition.

Snape wasted no time assessing her condition. Instead, taking advantage of her temporary distraction, he grabbed hold of the cauldron and activated his Portkey.

He'd already begun to feel the tell-tale pull at his navel, when he remembered—too late—that he'd left his potions grimoire behind, but there was no going back. Hopefully, with the potion's most crucial ingredient destroyed, there was little harm Bellatrix could do with the tome, even if she did manage to find someone to properly brew it for her.

Of course, he had no way of knowing that others had existed or that in her search for his father's grave, Voldemort's most loyal servant had uncovered the location of his mother's childhood home…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	29. Chapter 29

"Potter!"

Snape was in a rage. He had just escaped Bellatrix Lestrange's clutches using Dumbledore's Portkey to the Room of Requirement, only to be astonished by the sight of the young man before him. "What are _you_ doing here?!"

"We were waiting for you, Professor Snape," a female voice responded behind him, causing the former Death Eater, still edgy from his recent fight, to whirl around instinctively, bringing his wand up to a ready position.

The speaker, a pale-eyed blonde who he'd never seen before, smiled at him serenely, apparently unperturbed by the wand pointed at her face. "I'm ever so glad to see you alive again, Professor," she continued. "Snake bites can be such nasty things. Did you know that Harry was once bitten by a Basilisk, but Fawkes—?"

"Luna!" interrupted the young man he'd, at first, mistaken for Potter. The resemblance was uncanny, but one look at Lily's brilliant green eyes staring back at him dispelled any notion that the person before him might be James Potter. The girl had called him Harry—but surely he was too old to be Lily's boy. What was going on here?

Severus cast a questioning glance at Dumbledore, who he'd spotted sitting in an obviously conjured chair in the corner of the bare stone chamber he'd arrived in but, considering how close the headmaster liked to play his cards, he wasn't surprised that he got no response.

He turned back to the couple, hoping to get an answer there, but they had their backs turned to him and were busy arguing about, of all things, him, as if he couldn't hear them. What little he could make out of what they _were_ saying didn't make much sense, as far as he could tell, but the boy, whose tone kept rising, was starting to sound quite frustrated. As for the girl—Luna—she just seemed perplexed, "You mean we're not going to tell him how he got bitten and killed by Nagini?"

Severus frowned, even more confused than before. Who or what was Nagini? And how could he have been killed by this Nagini? He was still alive. Granted, he could probably do with some medical attention—a few of Bellatrix's non-lethal curses had hit him—but he was far from dead.

He tried to ask, but the young couple continued to squabble, completely ignoring him, and he couldn't quite summon the energy to raise his voice and demand a response. He needed to get to the hospital wing, _soon_. He glanced at the headmaster once more, but the older man just stared back at him, his eyes twinkling, and refused to say a word. Maybe he should leave and come back when he was feeling better, let them fight it out…

The sound of yelling broke the Potions Master out of his reverie. He looked up to see the messy-haired wizard throw his hands up in frustration, "If we keep telling people things, we'll end up in a locked room in the Department of Mysteries!"

Luna frowned. The whole argument had started with her just wanting to be honest with Professor Snape. They'd told Dumbledore, and Harry's parents, and Remus, and Sirius everything and anything they wanted to know, including plenty that they probably shouldn't know—Remus certainly didn't need to know that he was going to be naming his first-born "Teddy…" So, she really couldn't understand why Harry was being so stubborn about Professor Snape… Was it because they'd never gotten along? Or was something more going on here?

Harry was making it sound like they couldn't tell _anyone_. Surely, that wasn't what he meant.

They hadn't really talked about it much, but she'd always thought that, once they were done hunting down and destroying pieces of Voldemort, she's get to see her parents. She missed them so much—both of them.

Ever since they'd come through the Ring, she'd been thinking about her mother even more than her father, about the warmth of her hugs, the fragrant aroma of her soft hair, the melodious tone of her sweet voice… She was still alive now; they could _save her!_

With that thought in mind, her voice warbled a bit, as she spoke next, "So we can't tell anyone else?"

Harry had no way of knowing that Luna was thinking of her parents and not Professor Snape. He wasn't privy to her train of thought, and his mind was on the argument at hand. It was silly and childish, but he didn't _want_ to tell Snape the truth. A tiny part of him still resented his former professor for the way he'd treated him for years, for the leering, and taunting, and derision. That tiny selfish part of him liked having the upper hand, for a change, and wasn't inclined to give up his advantage, which is why he responded with a categorical, " _No_!"

By the time he noticed the tears beginning to pool in her eyes, it was too late to take the words back. "What's wrong, Luna?" he asked quietly, laying a hand gently on her shoulder, all his anger melted away.

Luna didn't answer. Shrugging his hand away, she wiped her tears with her sleeve, and squaring her shoulders, turned to address Snape, a defiant look on her face, "I'm sorry, Professor, I'm not supposed to tell you anything, but I don't care! We're from the future. And I think that you're a hero and deserve to know it."

Had he not been exhausted from his recent wand-fight, Severus might have managed a modicum of self-control. However, as it was, his jaw dropped at her revelation, and he found himself gaping, unable to formulate a response. He shot another questioning look at the headmaster, who graced him with what was probably supposed to be a reassuring nod. But Severus wasn't feeling reassured; he just had more questions. _How did they get here? Why did they come?_ Who _are they!?_

He opened his mouth to ask, but the male time-traveller—Harry, _Harry Potter—_ cut him off, "Did you get the Cup?"

Snape frowned, at the unexpected change of topic, momentarily disoriented, "The cup?"

"Yes, Hufflepuff's Cup. I know you probably have questions, but now that Luna told you about us being from the future, we're going to have to spend _hours_ explaining everything, so first, I need to know if you got it."

Snape nodded absently, his mind still trying to wrap itself around what titbits of information that he'd been given, "It's in the cauldron—what's left of it anyway. The potion exploded when I forced the Cup in, along with Bellatrix's hand; then it began to scream…" He frowned, some of his fury from earlier resurfacing, despite his fatigue, and he turned to the headmaster, "You might have considered warning me that the artefact was sentient and would sense that it was being attacked. The blasted thing warned Bellatrix of my treachery, long before she got anywhere near the cauldron. I barely escaped with the Cup alive and I was forced to leave the grimoire behind…. If it hadn't been for the Portkey…"

Dumbledore, undisturbed by the younger wizard's anger, stood and approached the cauldron, "Excellent." He cast a selective hovering charm, causing the cup, mangled beyond recognition, to rise out of the potion. "I believe we can pronounce it destroyed," he smiled, eyes twinkling. "I suppose we didn't need to hold this meeting in the Room of Requirements, after all."

Harry nodded his agreement, "Just one left then—"

"What grimoire?" Luna interrupted with a question he'd overlooked.

"Slytherin's priceless potions grimoire," Snape responded, "the one with the recipe for the Dark Lord's resurrection potion"

Harry's expression, initially puzzled, transformed abruptly, as his mind caught up with what Snape was saying. His eyebrows furrowed in shocked outrage, he rounded on the headmaster, "You gave her the actual recipe!?"

"Of course," Dumbledore nodded, entirely unapologetic, "it was far simpler than creating a believable fake. She would not be able to brew it, anyway."

"And if she finds someone who can!?" Harry exclaimed, struggling to restrain his anger, as suspicion began to dawn on him. "Now we have to take care of the last Horcrux _right away_ —just in case—instead of taking time to properly prepare!"

Had that been Dumbledore's intention all along, to force his hand, by giving Voldemort's most loyal supporter the necessary recipe to resurrect him? _No! Surely not!_ Harry cast the idea aside. Despite his faults, Dumbledore wasn't _that_ foolish.

Regardless of the headmaster's intentions, however, they needed to get going. His gut was telling him that something was going to go wrong, that they hadn't any time to waste. So, taking a calming breath, he concentrated on asking the Room for a passageway into Hogsmeade.

Then, gesturing for the headmaster to precede him through the familiar tunnel to the Hog's Head, Harry paused to address Snape, "Sorry to take off like this. Luna will explain everything. Please don't go far, just in case. Last time that Headmaster Dumbledore tried this, he needed your help afterwards..."

* * *

The final Horcrux, Harry knew to be in Tom Riddle's grandfather's shack, and had to be approached with great caution. Rather than Apparate directly into the copse where the Gaunt hovel was located, and risk getting snared by defensive wards, Dumbledore and Harry landed a safe distance away, on the country lane between Great Hangleton and Little Hangleton, just beyond the wooden sign that Harry remembered from Bob Ogden's memories.

The sun had yet to rise, making it hard to see much beyond the high, tangled hedgerows that bordered the lane, and they were obliged to cast _Lumos_ to light their way. Even so, they made slow progress in the dark, and it was several minutes before the lane curved to the left and fell away, sloping steeply down a hillside, and offering a sudden view of the twinkling lights that filled the valley below. The church and graveyard were vaguely visible in the glow, and Harry shivered unconsciously at the thought that Bellatrix might still be lurking nearby. He forced himself to continue walking, however; she was the reason that they were in such a hurry. The sooner they took care of the ring, the sooner the risk of Voldemort returning would be eliminated.

Eventually, the lane curved back to the right, and Harry signalled that they should shorten their strides, slowing to search for the gap in the hedge, which would open onto the narrow dirt track leading to the Gaunt hovel.

The path, when they found it, was crooked, rocky, potholed, and bordered by higher and wilder hedgerows than those they had left behind. Like the country lane, it sloped down hill until it came to an end at a copse of trees, bared of leaves by the cold November wind, prompting the two wizards to stop short.

The leafless old trees ahead cast deep, dark, shadows, and it was a few seconds before Harry's eyes discerned their destination, a building half-hidden amongst the tangle of trunks.

When he had first seen it, in Dumbledore's Pensieve, he had thought the hovel so run-down that it seemed uninhabited. Seeing it now, he was forced to re-evaluate his earlier assessment. The walls were not just mossy, they had been overtaken by the surrounding plant life, vines weaving in and out of gaps in the timber and stonework. Up above, there were barely any tiles still attached to the roof, and the rafters were fully visible. Of the dead snake nailed to the front door, only a crumbling skeleton remained, partially hidden behind the nettles that grew all around it, covering the doors and tiny windows, thick with grime.

The nettles looked like they had been violently slashed with magic in places, and Harry found himself wondering if Bellatrix had beaten them to the ring. But, as they cautiously approached the hovel, he experienced the shivers of spine-deep coldness that he had come to associate, through multiple exposures, with Voldemort's magic. Whoever it was, they hadn't gotten in; the doors and windows were all still intact, still warded shut.

He hung back a few steps, keeping guard, and allowing Dumbledore to approach and check for magical traps. A minute passed before the headmaster determined that it was safe to use magic on the nettles hiding the door, and cleared what remained of them away with a series of rapid pruning charms. However, even then, he did not attempt to open the door, instead staring at it intently, as though there were something extremely interesting written upon it.

Though Harry recalled, and had shared, the information which future-Dumbledore had given him regarding the protections on the hovel, he stood back and waited, not interfering. There was no harm in being thorough. Still, by the time the headmaster, finally, stood back and reached into his cloak pocket, withdrawing a copy of the charmed microphone that Harry had used to open the Chamber of Secrets and Slytherin's locket, he had begun to grow impatient.

"So simple," Dumbledore murmured, "All that is required is a word of Parseltongue—perhaps the reason why the skeleton on the door was not disposed of. The word 'open' should do the trick," he paused to activate the device, "since you claim I came on my own last time. I doubt I had a more varied vocabulary than that at my disposal."

The door creaked open noisily, and Harry got his first look inside.

The Gaunt's house was now more even more indescribably filthy than it had been in Morfin's memories of the night he'd been framed for the murder of Voldemort's Muggle relations. A single burnt-out candle lay on grime-coated floor by the room's single armchair. Thick cobwebs covered the ceiling and walls, nearly hiding the two doors, which led off the main room.

However, there was no need to clear a path into either of the side rooms; the item they sought was clearly visible at the centre of the room they stood in. It had been placed on a glowing pedestal on the grubby kitchen table, between the remains of fifty-year-old mouldy and rotting food and a mass of crusted pots, and stood out as the only clean item in the filthy room.

Dumbledore moved to take a step towards the pedestal, but Harry stopped him with a firm hand on the aged wizard's shoulder, "Remember what I said."

"I will not touch it," he promised, "just examine the protections." Stopping in front of the table, he raised his wand and, waving it in complicated configurations over the pedestal, murmured quietly to himself. Finally, he pocketed his wand, and reached out with his right hand instead.

Harry darted forward and grabbed his hand before he could make contact, then growled, his tone accusatory, "You promised! No touching, Headmaster!"

"And I would not have touched it," Dumbledore insisted, "It is being protected by an impermeable barrier."

Unconvinced, the young wizard didn't loosen his grip. Rather, he continued to glare, prompting the older wizard to add, "Feel free to verify for yourself."

Reluctantly, Harry released the headmaster's wrist. Then reaching into his cloak pocket, he pulled out the charmed magical stasis evidence bag that he'd retrieved from Dumbledore's office after the fiasco with the diary.

Enclosing his hand in the charmed bag, he reached towards the ring. Sure enough, an inch away from touching it, he met with an invisible barrier. No matter how hard he pushed, his fingers encountered nothing but solid yet flexible air.

"The barrier cannot be penetrated physically, and any magical attempts will have disastrous consequences," Dumbledore explained, "No, unless I'm very much mistaken, the barrier requires something in payment, to permit us access to the ring, the goal being to force his enemy to weaken him—or her—self," Dumbledore responded.

"Blood you mean?" asked Harry. Dumbledore's portrait had claimed the same, but the time-traveller had been hoping for a different answer; the fact remained that the headmaster had failed to disable at least one of the ring's defences, the first time around.

"Yes, blood," the older wizard reached inside his robes and withdrew a short, sheathed dagger, "Voldemort has always had a penchant for the dramatic."

"No!" Harry interrupted before Dumbledore could use the dagger on himself, "I'll do it; you shouldn't get too close to the ring, just in case..."

"Very well," the headmaster agreed, slowly lowering the knife, and handing it to Harry, hilt first, he agreed, "probably best not to tempt faith so blatantly."

Bracing himself, the younger wizard cut a small slit on the palm of his hand and allowed the glistening drops of scarlet that emerged to drip onto the magical barrier. As it slowly became opaque before his eyes, he took a few hurried steps back.

There was no mistaking the exact moment it collapsed all together.

Entrancing images instantly bombarded both wizards. And then there was the voice, the irresistible voice, whispering at the back of their minds…

" _Put on the ring, put on the ring, put on the ring..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	30. Chapter 30

The kitchen in Gaunt's shack seemed to fade into the background. Images of people he had loved and lost rushed through Harry's mind in a violent torrent of good and bad memories, as the voice of Voldemort's Horcrux continued to taunt him to put on the ring… _the first time he'd kissed Ginny_ … _a trembling Hermione being consumed by a flash of green light_ …"Put on the ring…" _Ron grinning at him and clapping him on the back_ … _Bellatrix's Killing Curse striking Ginny down_ …"Put on the ring…" _Hermione hugging him after the first task of the Triwizard Tournament_ … _Ron glaring at Voldemort in defiance_ …"You can see them again, if only you put on the ring…"

He struggled to clear his mind, but new images kept replacing the old ones… _Remus asking him to be Teddy's godfather…Sirius falling through the veil in the Department of Mysteries…meeting his parents the night Voldemort was resurrected…Voldemort telling his mother to step aside…_

 _No!_ Harry shook his head vigorously. He'd seen his parents just a few hours ago. They were _not_ dead.

The layer of fog obscuring his thoughts began to lift, and he repeated the motion. None of them were dead— _not yet!_

Awareness flooded back to him, like a dam breaking.

Stepping back in horror, Harry pulled his hand towards himself abruptly. He'd come _so_ close to touching the ring with his bare hands…

But there was no time to worry about that now; in the corner of his eye, he saw Dumbledore. The older wizard had, in an attempt to lessen temptation, backed up to the far corner of the room, before the barrier had fallen. Now, however, he stood with his outstretched hand approaching the edge of the pedestal—and he was still advancing, still under a Horcrux-induced trance.

With a sharp warning cry, Harry lunged – just as Dumbledore's fingertips stretched for the ring – and sent them both tumbling to the grimy floor in a tangle of limbs.

There was an audible _crack_ and Dumbledore moaned, prompting Harry to hurriedly disentangle himself and roll off of the older wizard.

The headmaster's eyes shot open, and he groaned once more, shaking his head, as awareness returned to him, and he took in his current position, "What happened? Did we fall?"

"The ring ensnared us," answered Harry, his voice filled with disappointment, and self-disgust, as he pushed himself up from the grime-covered floor. "Even though I was ready for the Imperius Curse, this was much stronger than anything I've known. It nearly had us. Sorry, I pushed you so hard..."

"Quite alright, child, quite alright," reassured Dumbledore, smiling kindly and somehow managing to give off an air of authority despite his position on the floor, surrounded by filth. "Am I to assume, then, that you managed to break free of the ring's effects on time?"

Harry nodded grimly, "Yeah, I can still hear the voice, but it's faint now; I'm in control." He wiped his hands nervously on his robes, "Can you hear it?"

The headmaster nodded, his eyes twinkling, "Indeed, it is quite loud… _Arianna_ …" the last word emerged a whisper and his smile flickered, but for a moment, "However, my Occlumency shields seem to be holding, for the moment. All the same, I would feel more comfortable if you, not I, were the one to collect the ring."

He tried to push himself to his feet, but only got half-way before a sharp pain in his right ankle caused him to fall back onto his haunches. Laughing at his own weakness, he held up a hand to the younger wizard, "It would seem that these old bones aren't what they used to be... Help me up, will you, Harry?"

However, even with the other man's help, Dumbledore found himself hobbling painfully, and ended up lowering himself gingerly into the cobweb-covered armchair by the empty fireplace. "It seems I might have broken something."

Harry frowned; he hadn't _meant_ to hurt the headmaster. "Sorry."

"No, no need to apologize, dear boy," said Dumbledore, eyes still twinkling, despite the pain, "the fate that you saved me from is far worse than a few broken bones. My ankle can be mended, though, given the complexity of the joint, I think it best to only bind it and leave the task of repairing it properly, to Poppy, once we get back to Hogwarts.

Harry continued to stare glumly at the headmaster, not moving.

"Go on, collect the Horcrux," the older man prompted.

Though his eyebrows remained furrowed in consternation as he did so, he did finally stoop to collect the charmed magical stasis evidence bag from the floor, where it had fallen during the scuffle, and, enclosing his hand in it once more, reach for the ring—quickly, before it could ensnare him again.

Unsurprisingly, this time he encountered no resistance—the barrier truly had fallen…

Wordlessly, he sealed the bag, and slipped it into his pocket, turning back towards the headmaster just in time to see the older man stand up, wincing as he did so, but able to hold his own weight, at least.

* * *

Despite the slowly rising sun now illuminating the way, the pair progressed at a snail's pace up the potholed dirt track leading back to the country lane, and Dumbledore found himself leaning increasingly on his companion with each step. To shorten the journey, and not knowing the exact range of Voldemort's defensive wards, they kept trying, every few yards, to Apparate back to the edge of Hogwart's wards—without success…

Nearly fifteen minutes had passed and they were less than halfway up the dirt road. Far ahead, the gap in the hedge was just barely visible beyond the tall, scruffy hedgerows that bordered their path. Harry froze. His eyes had landed on something that caused all colour to drain from his face. Squeezing through the gap was Bellatrix Lestrange, wand raised, and looking just as crazy as he'd ever seen her. Dumbledore tugged Harry's sleeve and they quickly sidestepped into the wild hedgerow.

 _Damn!_ Harry had no interest in battling Bellatrix—particularly not now, with the headmaster injured, and with the final un-destroyed Horcrux in their possession; not now that she was in possession of the recipe for the resurrection potion…

He cursed himself for not thinking to bring his Invisibility Cloak. So far she hadn't noticed them, but that wouldn't last long; she was heading straight towards them…

In an act of desperation, he concentrated one last time on attempting to Apparate away. It didn't work. Not that he'd really expected it to… He was starting to suspect that the wards extended as far as the country lane.

Turning to Dumbledore, he whispered frantically, "Can you fight?" barely keeping the panic from his voice.

"Child," Dumbledore's tone was patronising, "I have fought under far worse odds, in much worse condition than I am in, at present." If he was nervous, Harry certainly couldn't tell. "She has yet to notice us; perhaps if we use a concealing charm –" The headmaster had raised his wand.

He didn't get to finish the sentence, for in the next moment Harry lunged, narrowly avoiding an incoming Cruciatus Curse, and dragging the headmaster down, onto the dirt path, with him, effectively cutting off whatever the older wizard had been about to say.

"Change of plans!" shouted Harry, rolling them both deeper under cover. He struggled to his feet, desperate for a glimpse of Bellatrix through the thick branches. "We get her, before she gets us! Then hightail it out of here, even if I have to levitate you!"

"Very well," Dumbledore didn't argue. Instead, not bothering to attempt to stand, he directed his wand at the overgrown hedgerow, causing it to grow rapidly, but before he could animate it to attack and bind Bellatrix, the Dark witch's next spell struck the barrier, setting it on fire.

Smoke filled the narrow passage, and Harry found himself coughing, choking, unable to breathe, to see… He struggled to get a Bubblehead Charm up; it was getting hard to concentrate, to think…The fire was closing in on them, the heat overwhelming…What was the crazy witch trying to do!? Kill them all, herself included?

By the time he finally managed to cast the spell and take in a refreshing breath of smoke-free air, the ferociously-hot air had been cooled slightly by a stream of ice from the headmaster's wand, with which he was battling the wall of flames.

The smoke, however, continued to thicken, and Harry could barely see more than ten feet in front of him. Bellatrix was nowhere in sight. He searched the smog desperately, where was she? In front of them? Behind them? Ten yards away? Or four?

A flash of red light gave her position away, but there was no time to dodge. The feeling of his very bones catching on fire replaced the very real but diminishing fire around them. Harry screamed; writhing through the smoky air like a drowning man.

And then it stopped.

Panting, still trembling with aftershocks, Harry forced his eyes open, and took stock of the situation. To his right, still caught on the ground, Dumbledore had finished battling the flames, and was now locked in a heated duel, exchanging spellfire with Bellatrix, matching her spell for spell.

Harry forced himself to his feet—time to end this. His wand arm still trembling, he struggled to aim, directing a Stunner—the first spell to come to mind—towards her. He now she had noticed him again.

Her next spell—thankfully not an Unforgivable this time—came rushing towards him. Harry threw up a shield just in time, effectively blocking her first curse. But the shield, under the power of her second, collapsed and Bellatrix's next spell was already on her lips.

" _Crucio!_ "

Desperately the young wizard threw himself to the side, just barely rolling out the curse's path. Up against the charred hedgerow now, with nowhere left to run, Harry brought up his wand, determined to defend against her next attack.

It didn't come. Instead, he watched as Dumbledore's next spell miraculously struck her, and she collapsed on the spot.

Keeping his wand drawn, Harry pushed himself to his feet. She still wasn't moving. He allowed himself a brief sigh of relief, then cast a few more binding spells for good measure.

The two of them looked around, assessing what to do next. They'd take her with them, for delivery to the authorities. The Aurors might even manage to keep her in custody this time, though with her husband and his brother still at large it didn't bode well…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	31. Chapter 31

A piercing shriek sounded in the middle of the night, waking Dumbledore from a deep slumber.

Instantly alert, the headmaster jumped out of bed with the spring of a man half his age, and hurried through the door connecting his bedchamber to his office, where one of his many alarms blared and demanded his attention. The last vestiges of sleep still clinging to his mind, he struggled to locate the source of the noise and silence it. It annoyed him, waking disoriented, and being caught unaware. But, in the days since the anticlimactic final death of Lord Voldemort, he'd foolishly allowed himself to grow complacent, to be lulled into a false sense of security…

Recalling that night, he couldn't help the slight smile that flitted across his face. Despite the grave difficulties in retrieving the last of the Horcruxes, despite the close calls, once collected, it had been the easiest to destroy. Harry had even—finally—let him do the honours, though not without first transfiguring the neck of a vial of Basilisk venom into a funnel with a hole large enough to accommodate a ring. All that had remained, then, was to tip it out of the sealed magical stasis bag they'd used to transport it. The vile artefact hadn't had so much as a second to defend itself…

And while the headmaster hadn't seen or heard from any of the Potters since that night, that minor detail was certainly no excuse for forgetting about his promise to Lily Potter, or about the Cruciatus-activated tracking spell that he'd placed on Frank Longbottom.

True, Bellatrix Lestrange was still in prison, but that didn't mean that the Longbottoms were out of danger. There were plenty more of Voldemort's key supporters still at large. In fact, ever since the massive corruption clean-up sweeping the Ministry of Magic had gotten underway in the wake of the veritable font of intelligence uncovered during the raid on Malfoy Manor, Death Eater arrests had pretty much ground to a halt…

He'd complained, of course, but the new interim Minister of Magic had been quite emphatic in her insistence that he keep his Order of Phoenix out of Ministry business. Nevertheless, if the Auror corps were so ineffectual that two of Wizarding Britain's finest were being subjected to Cruciatus in their own homes, perhaps he _should_ get the Order involved, regardless of her interdiction…

But that could wait. Unless he wished to deal with the not-to-be-underestimated wrath of one Lily Potter, he'd best rescue the Longbottoms first. There was no time to get a team together. Pausing only long enough to send off a brief Patronus message to the Potters, he converted the tracker into a Portkey, and activated it immediately.

The scene he appeared in the midst of was not quite what he'd been expecting.

For one, the dark warehouse that he found himself in bore no resemblance to Longbottom Hall. For another, neither Longbottom seemed to be a victim of an attack—Alice Longbottom wasn't even present. Instead, what he found was Frank Longbottom and another Auror duelling both Lestrange brothers and another younger wizard, with straw-coloured hair—Barty Crouch Junior.

But it wasn't the battling wizards that most drew his attention. Crumpled on the ground between the two parties lay a bundle of bloody cloth jerking spasmodically.

He stepped closer for a better look. _Is that–? No, it can't be—? But, yes…_

A stream of cursed fire briefly illuminated a human face hidden among the soiled robes. The pain-wracked husk curled in on itself was Severus Snape.

* * *

Halfway across the country, Lily Potter burst through the fire at Longbottom Hall, her heart pumping wildly and her gaze frantic, followed, seconds later, by both her husband and grown son stumbling out of the flames, in quasi-unison.

They were greeted, not by the heated battle they'd been expecting, but by a confused Alice Longbottom dressed in her nightclothes, but nonetheless wielding a wand threateningly in their direction.

"Lily? James? What's going on?" She lowered her wand only slightly as she recognized her unexpected guests, not ready to let her guard down just yet. It wasn't like Lily—or James for that matter—to show up unannounced at four o'clock in the morning.

Lily frowned, confusion slowly replacing the panicked expression she'd sported on her way through the Floo, "Dumbledore sent us a message. He said that you and Frank were under attack, th—" her voice cracked, "that Frank had been hit with Cruciatus."

Alice lowered her wand completely then. Surely, only the real Lily would persist with the foolish notion that she and Frank were fated to be attacked with Cruciatus in their own home. "You still on about that?" she asked, frustration leaking into her voice. "I told you last time. Frank and I can take care of ourselves. Besides, Bellatrix Lestrange is in prison; she's not likely to escape just to attack us."

Lily dropped bonelessly into the nearest chair, relief warring with confusion on her face, "But Dumbledore's message…the tracking spell…he sounded so sure… he said—"

"Where _is_ Frank?"

Harry's interruption called attention away from his mother, and prompted Alice to get her first good look at him. Her eyes narrowed. The resemblance to James Potter was unmistakable, but so were the differences—and James was standing right beside him so… Her wand shot up again, " _Who are you?_ "

The elder Potters froze, a shared look of desperation passing between them, unsure how to respond, how much knowledge to trust Alice with.

Harry saved them the trouble of making up their minds, "I'm Harry Potter, James' illegitimate half-brother."

He smiled then, ignoring James and Lily's matching dropped jaws, and Alice's look of confusion, "It's a long story." Then not giving the witch time to ask, he changed the subject, repeating his question, "So? Where _is_ Frank, then?"

Alice looked ready to probe further, but seemed to think better of it before the words left her mouth. Sighing, she shot Harry a final searching glance, before re-holstering her wand, deciding to trust him for now, "I'm not sure exactly. He's on duty tonight."

"So he might have been hit by Cruciatus, like the headmaster said," Harry pressed.

Alice sighed. "It's possible," she answered, reluctantly. He was right. Cruciatus wasn't something that you ever got used to, but when dealing with Death Eaters it was a distinct possibility. She'd been hit with it her fair share in the line of duty, including once while she was pregnant with Neville. She shuddered at the memory. She'd asked to be pulled off fieldwork the minute she'd returned to the Ministry—her job wasn't worth the safety of her unborn child.

"You're welcome to wait up with me, till Frank gets home, if you like," she offered, gesturing for James and Harry to join Lily on the couch. Then, not bothering to wait for them to take her up on the offer, she sunk unceremoniously into the worn love-chair by the fire, "I'm not likely to get back to sleep now that you've gotten the thought of it into my head."

She had only just sat down, however, when she suddenly shot up again, "Where is Harry?" she asked sharply, nervously, "Your son Harry? I hope you didn't leave him alone to come rushing needlessly to my rescue."

Lily shook her head, struggling not to over-react to the question, "Harry's friend Luna is watching him." Surely, Alice was _not_ accusing them of abandoning their child?

James didn't manage quite the same level of restraint, "Of course not!" His tone was barely level as some of his indignation at the perceived reproach leaked through, "We would _never_ leave _our baby_ alone!"

"Yes, yes, of course," Alice smiled apologetically, sinking back into her seat.

Pulse calming, as his anger slowly drained away, James allowed his wife to gently guide him onto the couch between herself and their son, and, before long, a pensive silence fell over the room, as the four of them sat staring at the fire and waited, each lost in their own thoughts.

It was in that position that Frank found them, four hours later, when he arrived from work. If he found it odd that his wife was up and waiting for him, he showed no indication as he greeted her with a kiss, then launched into an account of his night, "You won't believe who Fearghus and I caught the Lestrange brothers torturing last night! Severus Snape. I was so sure—"

Behind him, Lily gasped. _No! Not Severus…_ Through her son's stories, she'd just started getting used to the idea that he'd turned a new leaf, that she might be able to forgive him without getting her heart broken again, and now… She hadn't had the chance to tell him yet, to forgive him in person, he couldn't be…

Frank turned towards the sound, startled, his eyebrows rising as he noticed, for the first time, the guests seated on their couch. "Huh? What are you doing here?"

"Dumbledore sent us a message—"

At the mention of the headmaster Frank scowled, cutting James off mid-explanation. The old man should count himself lucky that the tracking charm he'd cast hadn't been caught during Frank's weekly curse-check, or Chief Warlock, or not, he'd be up on charges for interfering with an Auror's ability to perform his duties. He'd had no business tagging an Auror with a tracking charm. Just his showing up at the scene of tonight's attack, though perhaps useful in dispatching the Lestranges more quickly, had caused a terrible headache for Frank to clear up.

"Is Severus alright?" Lily's worried question pulled him out of his angry musings, "Where is he now?"

Pushing aside thoughts of the headmaster, Frank took a deep breath before responding, "He's in a bad way, Lily. They'd probably been at it for hours by the time Fearghus and I got there. By the time we got him to St Mungo's, he was barely responsive. I'm sorry."

* * *

A set of Aurors stood guard outside the door to Severus Snape's room at St Mungo's, but any indignation that Lily might have initially felt at that fact soon faded, when the pair insisted on verifying her and Harry's names against a list of approved visitors before letting them through. The Aurors were there to protect him until such a time as it was determined that he was no longer in danger of further attacks, not because he was in any sort of legal trouble.

When, after respecting the formalities, Lily finally entered the room with her son trailing behind her, it was with trepidation: her steps slow and hesitant, afraid of what she would find. Frank's report hadn't exactly been encouraging, nor had the update the sentinels had given her.

He was pale; Severus had always been pale, even as a child, but this was different. This was the stillness and pallor of someone at death's door. She took another hesitant step forward and caught sight of Headmaster Dumbledore, already seated at Snape's bedside in silent vigil, his habitual twinkle noticeably absent.

"How is he?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Still unresponsive," Dumbledore sighed, his voice strained, "They have no way of being sure of the exact numbers but the healers suspect that he was under the effects of sustained Cruciatus for several hours before anyone arrived on the scene."

"He's expected to recover though?" asked Lily, plaintively. He had to. She hadn't had a chance to apologize yet, to tell him that she forgave him. He just had to.

The silence that followed the question was heavy, charged. Given his knowledge of the Longbottom case, back home, Harry suspected the answer was no, but he held his tongue. Lily needed to hope right now, not to have her hopes dashed by uncertain foreknowledge. Who was he to say that Snape wouldn't recover, that Snape couldn't recover?

It was the Headmaster that finally answered, "The healers say they won't know the extent of the damage until he wakes up, even then there may still be some improvement during the first couple of weeks, as the swelling in his brain goes down... "

Once more the silence was heavy. Though he knew it was neither the proper time nor place, Harry couldn't help asking, "You cast a tracking spell on Frank Longbottom. Why didn't you cast one on Snape, as well? You knew he's been in danger since the moment he double-crossed Bellatrix Lestrange?"

"Severus knew the risks he was taking. He has always been able to take care of himself," answered Dumbledore.

"I'm sure Frank Longbottom has always been able to take care of himself as well, what with being an Auror and all..." responded Harry, "didn't stop you from adding a bit of insurance in his case...insurance that he's quite mad at you about, by the way."

"I admit I may have been overconfident in Severus' ability to defend himself against his fellow Death Eaters, that hardly makes his condition my fault," was the unapologetic response.

"You still consider him a Death Eater!" Lily shouted, breaking up the argument with a reproach of her own. "You still consider him nothing but a pawn to be used to serve your purposes—despite what he has done to prove his loyalty, despite the risks he took to help you destroy You-Know-Who. You still consider him a Death Eater!" She glared at him fiercely, then grabbing the chair he had just vacated, sat down, hard, refusing to meet his gaze, "And that's why, if he never recovers, it will be your fault!"

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


	32. Chapter 32

"Sherbet lemon?"

Despite Lily's anger at Dumbledore, and his own disappointment with how the headmaster had handled things with Snape, Harry found himself once more in the older wizard's office a week later, this time with Luna at his side.

Harry sat down in what he was starting to think of as his chair, and turned down the offered sherbet lemon, as had become his habit. Luna, however, beamed at the offer and accepted one of the offered sweets gratefully.

"I apologize for taking so long to meet with you," Dumbledore began, "I have been meaning to ever since the last of Voldemort's Horcruxes was destroyed, but alas, I have been busier than anticipated, in recent weeks, what with the unfortunate and mysterious disappearance of my Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor, and the more recent attack on my Potions Master... Fortunately, I have managed to fill both positions, for the balance of the school year, at least..."

Dumbledore paused, as though hoping for a response to his opening, but continued when none was forthcoming. "So what are the two of you planning to do now?" he asked, "Now that you've fulfilled your primary objective in coming here."

Any response Harry might have been contemplating was cut off by Luna's enthusiastic reply. "I'd like to finish my education," she responded, without hesitation.

Harry, for his part, hesitated before replying, "Yeah, me too," he agreed.

Dumbledore sighed, "I thought you might say that. Though I was sort of hoping...I'll need new Defence against the Dark Arts and Potions teachers for the next school year if the two of you are interested in filling the positions..."

It was Harry's turn to sigh. His mother may have spent the last week ignoring the headmaster's requests that she come teach Potions in Snape's stead, but the idea of teaching actually did appeal to him, just not the timing. He wanted to finish school, properly, experience a normal school year, with no one trying to kill him, get to know his parents, maybe make some new friends…

Finally, he said, "How about this? You let Luna finish her sixth year—she was abducted half-way through—and let us both experience our seventh, next year. And then maybe the year after that…though you do realise how awkward it's going to be in another ten years or so for us to be teaching ourselves?"

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling. "Better than I have any right to expect, and temporary teachers are so much easier to find than permanent ones," he answered. "I accept your proposal. Now for the annoying details... I'm going to need OWL results if I'm to get you into NEWT classes..."

Harry smirked, "I think you're forgetting a step."

"Oh?"

"Yes, if you want us to take OWLS, or do anything other than hide out for that matter, we need to officially exist."

When that statement failed to garner a response—though he suspected Dumbledore was feigning ignorance—he continued, "Separate from that of our younger selves. No one will believe that I'm Harry Potter, son of James and Lily Potter, and I don't really want them to either. For once, I'd just like to be normal."

Beside him, Luna shook her head emphatically, "Normal is boring!"

Harry sighed, "Relatively normal then. If I wanted actual normalcy, I'd crash with the Dursleys…" He shuddered at the thought, not that they'd have him anyways…

Dumbledore's expression betrayed nothing of his thoughts on the subject, "I suppose you have an alternate story that would be easier to explain to the general public?"

"Of course," Harry smiled mysteriously, enjoying the feeling of knowing something the headmaster didn't, however brief it was destined to be. Back stories were actually something he and Luna had worked on before travelling through the Ring.

The quiet stretched on, the power-games playing out: Dumbledore not wanting to ask, and Harry unwilling to tell without being asked, until finally, Luna, who had no interest in the power-games between the two wizards, spoke up, "My new last name is going to be Bonamare," she announced, "Both my fictitious parents died in a recent Death Eater attack. They were recluses and insisted on homeschooling me to protect me from the vanusgenes that run rampant in mainstream Wizarding society—especially at the Ministry.

"Of course," she continued with a dreamy smile, "the vanusgenes are real enough—perhaps dad should have had me homeschooled me too, though I think I've managed to avoid infection… On the other hand, neither Mr nor Mrs Bonamare ever existed, so we're going to need a few believably forged birth—Harry's going to need one of those too—and death certificates, oh and marriage certificates, perhaps going back a few generations. Admittedly more difficult to acquire now that the Ministry has been cleaning house, but we're sure they aren't beyond your ability to produce, if you want the two of us to come teach in a couple of years."

Beside her, Harry nodded his agreement.

Finally the Headmaster nodded his assent. "I can certainly endeavour to acquire the necessary paperwork, Miss Bonamare, as well as tamper to the Hogwarts rolls to have you appear as having refused your Hogwarts acceptance letter," he agreed, then turned to Harry and finally asked, "And your cover story?".

"I look too much like James to claim to be anything other than a Potter," Harry began, "I already told Alice Longbottom that I was his illegitimate half-brother, which seemed to work. Granddad Potter was known as quite the ladies' man, even after he got married.

"We can claim that my mother was actually a Muggleborn witch, who returned to the Muggle world after finishing Hogwarts, and that she homeschooled me when she realised I was magical, but was killed recently. I've been trying to track my father down ever since, but since he's already dead, I only found my half-brother James, who invited me to stay in his home until I can get myself back on my feet."

"Very well, Mr Potter," the Headmaster replied when he finished. "You do realise there are quite a few holes in your story?"

"We—" Harry started to defend their story—he thought they'd done a pretty good job—but a giggle from Luna cut him off.

"Of course, it has holes, Headmaster," she began, "All good stories have holes, otherwise they're too constricting to work with. But you can handle the details, can't you? When you're busy forging documents and making people believe them?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and he gave them what was probably supposed to be a genial smile, "Yes, of course. Rest assured I will take care of the details, though it may take a few weeks. I will contact you both once I have managed to secure your legal identities and schedule OWL testing at the Ministry. Might I suggest you spend the intervening time studying for them?"

Harry groaned, but he couldn't really complain; he'd asked for it after all. But Luna didn't have to look so pleased. Ravenclaws and their studying… So he settled for glowering at her instead, not that it had a noticeable effect.

She was positively beaming and actually jumped out of her seat in her excitement as the headmaster handed her a fifth year syllabus, and a sixth year syllabus, and the fifth and sixth year required reading lists, and the teaching guidelines for expected competence levels for OWL examinations… "Thanks a lot, Headmaster!" she exclaimed. "Now we really must be going. We have to go shopping for text books and complementary reading material…" before practically bounding into the fireplace, barely taking a moment to yell out her intended destination.

Shaking his head at the display, Harry took his time standing up to leave. He nodded goodbye, then headed to the Floo to follow his friend home. The rest of his life was waiting for him…

**_The End_ **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That said, many thanks, to my wonderful pre-beta Hippothestrowl, and also to my beta Arnel for their input on this chapter.


End file.
